The Golden Crack
I saw a little cup
at the museum today.
It wasn’t like the others,
even though it was clear
that it belonged.
For this little cup
was different.
It had a golden crack.
It was once broken,
but a craftsman
took the time
to patch it up.
It was whole again,
but yet the scar, remained—
much like a life well lived.
The two really are the same.
Post Comments
Poetrysoup is an environment of encouragement and growth so only provide specific positive comments that indicate what you appreciate about the poem. Negative comments will result your account being banned.
Please
Login
to post a comment
Turn off ads, get more exposure for your poetry, and get more features with a
Premium Membership.
