#vases - Hello Poetry

Porcelain cracks My heart is made of plastic Earth will quake Glass will shatter Ceramic vases and statues falling to the ground and breaking apart China plates will smash Pieces scattering zillions of different directions But me Body will remain strong and unscathed While others try gluing themselves back together in vain Holding head in place until the shaking is through so the screws holding it on don't rattle loose And I am not sure when this transformation occurred It used to break often After one too many beatings it evolved into this cold lump in my chest Safe and sound regardless of who tries to destroy it

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Dec 11, 2020

Dec 11, 2020 at 9:35 AM UTC

AmandaKayBurke

Heart Of Plastic

Porcelain cracks My heart is made of plastic Earth will quake Glass will shatter Ceramic vases and statues falling to the ground and breaking apart China plates will smash Pieces scattering zillions of different directions But me Body will remain strong and unscathed While others try gluing themselves back together in vain Holding head in place until the shaking is through so the screws holding it on don't rattle loose And I am not sure when this transformation occurred It used to break often After one too many beatings it evolved into this cold lump in my chest Safe and sound regardless of who tries to destroy it

15

Blubber Sometimes I get tired Of all the blubber The grinding of systems The metal to the rubber The pushing of points The singing to the choir Pickaxe in place of featherc Look there's a bird upon the wire Maybe potions going dry No thank you please And fingers going all stiff While here awaits the feast And vases laying all smashed Words sitting there all torn Lets gather the broken scraps Rearrange them and be reborn Maybe it's me and only me Closing an old and tattered page Maybe I've overstayed my welcome On an old and creaky stage Ah the sticks an stones are smiling now The crows I think they've left But the cinders upon ash Still burn bright upon this hearth Out into the clearing See it twinkling up ahead An inkling of some something Some of us have thought of and said Merlin's done it agian Con-Ed's shut down Tesla's come into power And White Bear gets his crown Oh And George Carlin is pope Shakespeare is president They both know the ropes And you what ya think? Wink, wink

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Apr 25, 2018

Apr 25, 2018 at 6:14 AM UTC

tara-liz-driscoll

Blubber

Blubber Sometimes I get tired Of all the blubber The grinding of systems The metal to the rubber The pushing of points The singing to the choir Pickaxe in place of featherc Look there's a bird upon the wire Maybe potions going dry No thank you please And fingers going all stiff While here awaits the feast And vases laying all smashed Words sitting there all torn Lets gather the broken scraps Rearrange them and be reborn Maybe it's me and only me Closing an old and tattered page Maybe I've overstayed my welcome On an old and creaky stage Ah the sticks an stones are smiling now The crows I think they've left But the cinders upon ash Still burn bright upon this hearth Out into the clearing See it twinkling up ahead An inkling of some something Some of us have thought of and said Merlin's done it agian Con-Ed's shut down Tesla's come into power And White Bear gets his crown Oh And George Carlin is pope Shakespeare is president They both know the ropes And you what ya think? Wink, wink

40

People are like acrylic vases.. So pretty and shapely and tidy and neat.. With their simple designs and flat bottoms; Some are glittery, some are bold, Some are colourful and, some are plain gold. They rest on the shelves for display, Each showing their perfect angle, their brightest colour.. Each waiting to be knocked down by life's childish play. Some tumble and fall, Others crack open but stand tall, Some are yet to be victims of life's call. Among thousands of millions of acrylic vases, There sits one unnoticed vase that faces The direct rays of the sunlight beams, Which dance through its translucent glass It's the only unique one in the entire mass. When light dances through it you can see That it's not translucent but crystal-clear, The fog of patchwork which makes it unclear to see, Is nothing but shards of glass in a smear. My broken baby stands tall, With a few missing pieces and others glued on, He breaks more and cracks further with every fall He doesn't look like he once used to, That silhouette of his shadow is long gone... But he is beautiful like no other can be And he is whole in his incompleteness His damaged self and damaged reputation Makes him purer and truer than most others If only they put aside their prejudiced condemnation. But broken he is, and pain he is enduring. How long can he carry on? How long can he stand upright? How long before all his pieces begin to fall and he loses his fight? I want to fix him, I want to glue him back piece by piece I want to ease his agony, help him up, If only he'd let me. Perhaps he's too afraid of my touch, Too afraid that I may break him further And crack down his glass into powder If only he'd let me touch him, he'd know That my grip on his form is like a soothing balm, His cracks would lessen, while I'd watch his mind Shift from madness to a serene calm. But my broken baby needs no one, he made it very clear, He'd rather face the elements alone than lean on another. If only he saw how it makes me feel, How it makes me weep tear after tear Perhaps one day he'd want me and no other. Oh, my broken baby let me save you! Let me build you up again piece by piece Let me rip my pieces to make you whole, Let me help you become complete. Let me be your martyr, your saviour in disguise, Watch my features plead and hear my helpless cries!

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Jan 28, 2016

Jan 28, 2016 at 1:17 PM UTC

cutezeni

My Broken Baby

People are like acrylic vases.. So pretty and shapely and tidy and neat.. With their simple designs and flat bottoms; Some are glittery, some are bold, Some are colourful and, some are plain gold. They rest on the shelves for display, Each showing their perfect angle, their brightest colour.. Each waiting to be knocked down by life's childish play. Some tumble and fall, Others crack open but stand tall, Some are yet to be victims of life's call. Among thousands of millions of acrylic vases, There sits one unnoticed vase that faces The direct rays of the sunlight beams, Which dance through its translucent glass It's the only unique one in the entire mass. When light dances through it you can see That it's not translucent but crystal-clear, The fog of patchwork which makes it unclear to see, Is nothing but shards of glass in a smear. My broken baby stands tall, With a few missing pieces and others glued on, He breaks more and cracks further with every fall He doesn't look like he once used to, That silhouette of his shadow is long gone... But he is beautiful like no other can be And he is whole in his incompleteness His damaged self and damaged reputation Makes him purer and truer than most others If only they put aside their prejudiced condemnation. But broken he is, and pain he is enduring. How long can he carry on? How long can he stand upright? How long before all his pieces begin to fall and he loses his fight? I want to fix him, I want to glue him back piece by piece I want to ease his agony, help him up, If only he'd let me. Perhaps he's too afraid of my touch, Too afraid that I may break him further And crack down his glass into powder If only he'd let me touch him, he'd know That my grip on his form is like a soothing balm, His cracks would lessen, while I'd watch his mind Shift from madness to a serene calm. But my broken baby needs no one, he made it very clear, He'd rather face the elements alone than lean on another. If only he saw how it makes me feel, How it makes me weep tear after tear Perhaps one day he'd want me and no other. Oh, my broken baby let me save you! Let me build you up again piece by piece Let me rip my pieces to make you whole, Let me help you become complete. Let me be your martyr, your saviour in disguise, Watch my features plead and hear my helpless cries!

55

There's a room full of vases And each one is different. Some have cracks, Others, fractures; Some have crumbled, Others, shattered; Some have different colours In a patchwork pattern. Some look whole and well But only from a distance; Others' cracks are so fine Only the vase can tell it's broken. But each vase is beautiful. Each vase can be useful, Be patched up and hold something. This room full of vases Appears sad to some, But it is also Brimming with life.

0

Aug 2, 2014

Aug 2, 2014 at 4:40 PM UTC

kate-e-deter

Room Full of Vases

There's a room full of vases And each one is different. Some have cracks, Others, fractures; Some have crumbled, Others, shattered; Some have different colours In a patchwork pattern. Some look whole and well But only from a distance; Others' cracks are so fine Only the vase can tell it's broken. But each vase is beautiful. Each vase can be useful, Be patched up and hold something. This room full of vases Appears sad to some, But it is also Brimming with life.

19