Little glass vase,
rests quietly on the table,
sitting there,
it hasn't been used in years,
but yet it remains,
a center piece,
for an old little table.
Glass will always break,
it is far too delicate,
it will hit the floor,
and shatter,
and someone else will have to pick up,
the tiny sparkling pieces.
But no worries,
no one lives in that house,
it has been empty for years,
it used to hold,
a little family,
that loved that little vase,
the daughter would put,
many wildflowers inside,
creating a beautiful array,
of color.
The mother would organize them,
and add flowers of her own,
sometimes her and her daughter,
worked together,
carefully placing,
each little flower,
in the perfect little vase,
the father watched on,
with a gentle smile,
caressing his face,
as his wife placed,
a flower,
on his daughter's,
small nose.
It was a time,
where everything was perfect,
nothing was wrong,
it was beautiful,
but now the house is empty,
and no one knows why,
the shutters are closed,
and  no light shines through,
and that vase is alone,
with no flowers to be put inside,
and it sits there,
collecting dust,
of wasted time.
And that little vase,
it will never break,
unless some unseen force,
shatters it.
And then,
the earth rumbled beneath,
and the vase fell,
off the old table,
crashing in the dark house,
on the hard floor,
it should have shattered,
but it stayed there,
in one piece,
unbreakable.