I am what You have made of me

You have pressed my brokenness between Your palms
and made of me a new kind of ordnance,
dense, weighty, deceptively simple and small.
You heft me from hand to hand
with fierce joy,
enjoying Your work,
savoring Your plan.
I am the stone in the slingshot,
the sickle in the field.
I am a bullet in the chamber
waiting for a spark,
I am the arrow held between Your fingers,
eager for flight.

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