Broken Instruments

When they break
I can use them
Not until – you must know.
Pomp and pride
They must lose them
For the power to show.
All my tools
Have been sharpened
Have been strengthened by flame.
Like my Son
They have yielded
To some grinding and shame.
Others miss
Their fine tuning
Subtle goads for each task.
But I know
They are able
For whatever I ask.

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