On the Potter's Floor

The father molded me, built me to perfection. He fired me in a kiln, and covered me for protection. I took it all for granted, threw myself on the ground. My broken pieces became stepped on, my heart was never found. I felt the blood drip slowly, of the ones that didn't see. They didn't know what they had done, how they kept crushing me. I was left on the potter's ground, felt so alone. No one even noticed, how my tears had flowed. I felt the potter's hand now, pick me up from the floor. He pieced me back together, made me better than before.