I Am Purposed

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Siloma

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Am tiny
Yes,  a bead lost into the oblivion
I am a fragment
One soaked in black tar and difficult to trace
I am a broken shell with serrated sides
Imperfect,  no longer precious
I have no use

But I find meaning
For I am purposed to live a worthy life
One that glorifies Him and not me
One that makes sense of mine and uplifts His
I am made perfect in His image
Complete and lacking fault
So who is man to say to me
That I am nothing?

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