Whining to the Holy Spirit

I am, it seems, empty.
All worth saying, said
in twenty-seven different verses.
I have no new wisdom.
I have no new pain to push through
and the old ones have become tiresome.
I simply am,
an empty bowl waiting
to be filled.

About this poem.

Not my most elegant poem. But what do you expect of an empty bowl?

The picture was taken at the Hancock Shaker Village in Pittsfield, MA.

Tom