I was revising an old poem today and decided I’d post it. Here it is:
Smashing Pots
In darkness Gideon stood
above the conqueror’s camp
with his few men.
Each gripped a horn
in his right hand,
while in his left
he held an earthen pot.
And each pot hid a torch.
The signal came.
They blew their horns,
and shouted victory;
they smashed their pots,
and glory blazed;
they shattered brittle clay,
they lit the night
and threw their captors into panic
by the sudden noise and light.
And what a bargain
those men made!
And what a modest price
they paid for victory!
They traded broken pots…
for peace,
a pile of shattered shards…
for liberty.
I have pots, too –
my expectations
dreams
habits
schedule
What I Want –
my earthly things.
Am I in another battle
that requires
a shattering?
© Becky Cerling Powers 1999
