the once cracked vase, the
once-had perfection, its surface
now a dichotomy of patterns against the other;
Ordered flowers against spider-web chaos,
painfully beautiful, painstakingly precise.
I made it once, back
when I was what I was, still unsure,
painting over cracks
in my own flesh and bone. Small wonder
that it broke
its materials being the same, the bad tool
blames the workman.
A net to catch water, a glass to catch light;
So what if function it does not serve?
Shattered into fragments, yet still I shall
piece it together
with a Creator's love.