I am a China vase, so divine,

Shattered to millions of pieces.

And the question remains,

Will I ever be reassembled?

If so, will I ever be,

Worth anything at all?

Cracks trace a map of what you’ve held,

Memories of vibrant flowers,

Now ghosts of color linger, whispers,

Of a life before the fall.

But within the broken pieces,

A resilience stirs, a hidden shine,

Perhaps I’ll never be hole again,

But I will be,

One beautiful mosaic.