Vase (Photo credit: marlana)

There was a vase upon his shelf
He swore he never bought
He swore was never still a gift
Was nothing that he sought

It’s form so perfect symmetry
It’s colour changing red, blue, black
He swore he did not know its source
So could not give it back

The vase contained a mystery
So sleek and so refined
I could have told its history
If I were so inclined

The vase there seated on the ledge
Came not from you or me
But that its home is this sweet spot
On this at least agree

© Helen Valentina 2013, All Rights Reserved

About Helen

I'm drawn to blogging as a way to share ideas and consider what makes us who we are. Whether it's in our working life or our creativity, expression is a means to connect.
This entry was posted in Earth, Poetry and tagged , , , , , , . Bookmark the permalink.

5 Responses to Vase

  1. words4jp says:

    I can interpret this on many ways.

  2. You have such a lovely grasp of language Helen, it is always a joy to read your words. I like the mystery that this poems presents.

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