“In the end, we'll all become stories.” Margaret Atwood
Everyone wants to be the flower,
not the vase molded from clay and bone.
On the dark side of moonless vanity
art is assigned to be a stage prop
to adorn ego, and not speak the vision of muses.
I am a vessel…the curved spin of eye and hand
formed from earth and fallen stars…tangible grown
from the unseen to be visible.
My imperfections are the glory
of a thumbprint no one else holds,
the flame of a dreamer never extinguished.
I am the keeper of life until the blossom
succumbs to the wilted rest of a memory.
Comments
Now if the flower is a gift it is nice to include a vase for it also.
..
succumbs to the wilted rest of a memory.
Love the close Susie! Good to be passionate with any creativity or a creative endeavor. To preserve the richness of culture may even turn lucrative!
Hank
of a thumbprint no one else holds,
the flame of a dreamer never extinguished.
There you go with the perfect lines, Susie. Loved this poem beyond words.
Great first line, Susie!
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