Vase

She told me: with tear stained eyes-

“I feel as if my body is an old pottery vase

Slowly cracking, breaking at the sides.

Each mending touch — slowly

Adding pressure.

Causing me to fold outward- silently,

Scattering to the floor.”

I was silent for a moment…

Unaware and unsure of how to create-

To form some way of giving her hope,

But I managed…

“You may be a vase that is breaking,

Perhaps even fallen.

But the pattern of life is to be moulded again,

By wiser hands this time.

Hands that have lived and experienced and endured.

To create a formation that is bound to light.

So that each day you can rise to the sun,

And find great courage within — to fight.

Because you are no breaking vase, my dear,

You are the flower with petals blooming to the day.

You are the one that will inspire us all, always.

At the end of the day,

Every flower in the world,

Would love to be as beautiful, as you.”