The room is filled with dancing dust
In rays of sun they show
In guidance of the air they trust
to bring them high and low
The land upon the furniture
upon my grandma’s favorite vase
there’s something ‘bout that porcelain
It’s been on my mind for days
Standing there so quietly
collecting dust upon the shelf
Watching life behind glass doors
It reminds me of myself
It’s glaze is full of cracks and lines
maybe one for every year
Next to golden dandelines
making the damage less severe
It must be scared of falling
not the fall itself it fears
It’s the inevitable prospect
that it’s ugly core appears
Holding memories and secrets
from generations long
Unvarnished and unpolished
In it’s utmost purest form
But for now it is still standing there
By the cupboards’ walls restricted
Waiting for the time it brakes
Like the cracks and lines predicted
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