i am the vessel, cracked and thin,
a porcelain form the tide wears in.
no artisan's hand can smooth the seams,
no fire can mend these fractured dreams.
i watch the world with wistful grace,
yet time carves lines upon my face.
a hand may reach, a voice may call,
but i am bound to let things fall.
the wind remakes the careful sand,
the tide unthreads the woven strand.
yet here i standโa wayward spark,
adrift within the growing dark.
i cannot hush the restless sea,
nor bid the branches bend for me.
i cannot halt the silver thread
that frays each word i left unsaid.
and oh, how cruel, how soft, how vast,
the truth that hums through every pastโ
that every flaw, though bare and bright,
is but the echo of the light.
so let the glass grow worn and thin,
let luster fade, let cracks begin.
for i was never meant to mold,
to chisel fate, to forge, to hold.
i am the vessel, chipped and free,
and imperfection sings through me.