Porcelain Vase
High in quality; great value that it claims
But the piece is so delicate, so easy to break
All cower from it, in towering fear
So the piece is left lonely, with not a soul near
They also cower, because of the tolls of time
It's journey embedded flaws; dents and cracks combined
If it ever embraced beauty, it doesn't now to their eyes
For it's man-made scars are feared and despised
It waits, day by day, for a savoir's demise
One bearing the ability to comprehend it's state of mind
Every time one comes close, their caring's astray
It's unimaginable, how it shatters in every which way
Increasingly difficult for it to onwardly thrive
Feeling not many, if any, would mourn it's goodbye
Selfish pleasure, is something easy to obtain
From one so fragile, to afraid to complain
My sight has been altered in many ways
Except my self-views - a porcelain vase
No value remains, and nothing to obtain
Given up, but I still remain, all the same
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