From the innocent infant,
To the ages of elders,
We are never enough alone.
Eloi, my Salvation,
Take this mess I call my soul.
Form it in the Potter's Hands
Into something you desire
Into something beautiful
In birth alone,
In death alone,
We are less
We are weak
We are lower
We are nothing
Eloi, my Salvation,
Take this mess i call my soul.
Form it in the Potter's Hands
into something worthier
Into something You desire
Into something beautiful
This is amazing! You are the potter, and have moulded the poem into something beautiful...
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
Birth is alone and death is alone. But in intermediate time period we live in society. Something beautiful we perceive. This is an excellent poem really...10