Once I was a caterpillar, sorry and alone,
I believed the tales and the lies that were sown,
When I glimpsed my reflection, I greeted it with disdain,
Fearing the world's scorn, I sought to feign.
But the reflection echoed as a centipede's despair,
Its voice filled with curses, and a venomous glare,
Those lies I accepted, they wounded deep,
The hatred I felt, in my soul, had seeped.
But in the depths of my ocean, a voice so small,
Whispered of perfection, not by my will but of His call,
He taught me the difference, between the centipede and me,
For I am a caterpillar, waiting to be free.
Hidden away in a cocoon of His embrace,
Shielded from the world, I was in a sacred place,
Transformation-induced, for me to soar and glide,
A breathtaking creation, which will be admired far and wide.
No longer a centipede's victim of despair,
But a butterfly, graceful in pure air,
The Potter's hands shape me anew,
From a broken mirror and tainted clay, glory to glory I become new every day.
In His presence, I lack naught,
A vessel of beauty, by His love I'm caught,
For now, I'm on a caterpillar's journey, to a divine embrace,
In the Potter's hands, I find my rightful place.
2 Corinthians 3:18 + 5:17