The Vase (A Premature Burial of Self)

By Virgils Vigil

The hour is late
Everyone sleeping
No concept of state
Children are weeping

The sky is a fraud
Deep milky blue taint
No concept of god
No air of restraint

The hours pass on
Universes shake
loose; Just as the faun
is hung with a noose

This concept of shame
Has broken a vase
No concept of blame
Can ever replace

We cover our face
With skin that we sœw
The world is a race
To buy what we owe

Yet idle we sit
Each one in our place
The stems are all slit
By shards of the vase

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Published on Tuesday, December 20, 2011. Filed under: "Poetry"

Comments on "The Vase (A Premature Burial of Self)"

A former member wrote: Another excellent offering. Some great ideas here. The last three stanzas seem to fall away from the first three, shattering the vase, if that makes sense. You word your thoughts well. Don't stop now, VV. Yer on a roll.
A former member wrote: Vase = vessel as we are all vessels. Does that mean that you were broken? And if so, who was cut by the shards? Great piece, really getting me thinking. Rated 10
On Tuesday, December 20, 2011, dwells (4177) wrote:

Some really insightful stanzas here and a proper title too, thanks and well done.
On Tuesday, December 20, 2011, Devilish (2633) wrote:

AfuckingMazing!!! Love it! Damn every line is a hit!! Beautiful!
On Tuesday, December 20, 2011, Virgils Vigil (74) wrote:

Ah, flattery, my weakness. Thank you.