2018, Followed the Signs of Sunflowers

I am a broken vase,

stitched by a gloomy base,

pressed around the creeks to lace,

I stand in pain,

crying over my soul's work,

weighing the artwork,

traced on the curves of my walls,

I lay by my broken pieces,

crushed by a sudden swing to cease,

but dusted to collect the perfect least,

I cry until my veins,

loosen its lace into ashes,

yet the perfect least in imperfect shapes,

tightens its bristles to glue, 

the lost scrapes of memories to sustain,

I stand in loss,

grieving every ache to cross,

trying every knack to come across,

to mend and bend the imperfect me,

bonded by strokes of coating,

holding strands of sunflowers,

to recover and find beauty,

breathed into weigh,

Still,

I am a lost vase,

now in a new place,

embracing the minds of the soul,

searching echoes filling in heart's hole, 

whispering in the dark of sullen roles,

lighting up with yellow light,

conveying you and me,

deriving nothing but the mere existence,

bridging the silver lining,

burning the aches,

connecting over silence,

buried under conscience,

with a new life to breathe,

empathizing softness to see,

I see you in every walk,

an eye staring at my frame,

speaking through my sight,

signing off with a memory,

etched to heart's whole,

that struck my precious soul,

Soulfully weighing

from the time of the first stroke.