Fill Me Up.

A broken bowl to be poured out,
But nothing remains in this empty heart
Except a meal of doubt.

And doubt sounds big to the hearer,
But even after you've taken your part
You find hunger all the nearer.

Still, a bowl, though broken and reckless,
To the maker remains a work of art,
If only it is filled by something priceless

So this reckless heart is waiting for a river.
And though broken, once waters start
I'll say, "Fill me up, I'm the artwork of the Giver."