The Weathered Vessel

 

All things that bloom must answer unto dusk.

No flame, however fierce, escapes the night.

The world is but a passage carved by time,

Where shining forms grow fragile in its wake.

I was not born to perish in the dust.

Once I wore emerald and bright gold flame.

The morning sun would rest upon my face,

And I would answer light with living glow.

In careful hands I found a gentle home,

Wrapped close in silk and guarded as a prize.

Within my hollow chest lay secret dreams,

Like hidden grain preserved for winter’s need.

I held small hopes as one holds fragile fire,

And trusted love would never turn away.

But time, with silent fingers, marked my frame;

A subtle fracture split my shining side.

I know "No soul nor sorrow lingers here for long.

All forms must fade beneath the patient sky.

We come as light and vanish into dusk;

Impermanence is all we truly own."

No thunder warned me of what would be lost;

Decay arrived in whispers, slow and sure.

Abandonment consumed my hopeful core,

Then pride, then faith that I was worth a place.

Now by the roadside, weathered, I remain;

The sun burns harsh upon my rusted skin.

Cold rain invades the chambers of my heart;

The wind recalls a name none speak aloud.

The hurried world moves past without a glance;

Some kick me lightly from their chosen path.

Some grind me deeper in indifferent mud;

Some stain with scorn what sorrow could not break.

Then I learned "No hand can hold forever what it loves.

No shining thing escapes the touch of time.

We bloom, we break, we scatter in the wind -

And learn that nothing earthly stays the same."

They see but ruin where a treasure stood;

They do not know the warmth I once contained.

Each dent records a blow I have survived;

Each mark of rust declares I bore the storm.

Strike me - a trembling music answers still,

A thinner note, yet honest in its tone.

For though my painted glory fades to brown,

A stubborn pulse persists beneath decay.

I am not dust, though cast aside and worn;

I breathe within the wreckage of my form.

For survival shines in subtler light

Than any gold that dazzled in its prime.

So judge me not by what the years have stripped;

My worth was never held in outward hue.

Beneath the rust, beneath the broken rim,

A quiet strength endures - and that is me.

I remind you man"For none who walk this earth remain for long.

All flesh and flame surrender unto time.

We rise like sparks and fade into the dark -

And leave but echoes where our light once burned."