My Thoughts In Poetry

Glass

I am glass.

Let me explain.

A vase, beautiful when filled with a bouquet of luxurious red roses. It may sit on the dining table for a week, admired, and complimented when noticed.

"Wow, these are beautiful," The woman touches the petals of those beautiful roses and then turns her attention to the vase, "where'd you get this?" The owner answers with a shrug of her shoulders and then the curious woman smiles, "Well I must get one for myself. It's absolutely stunning." And then the vase is again ignored.

It's glass glistens in the light, creating a rainbow when the light hits it correctly. But it's irritating to see the reflecting light on the glass, so the owner closes the windows of her home, taking the beautiful light and rainbow away.

The flowers die, the owner tosses them into the trash, water that had filled the vase is poured down the sink. The vase falls from the owner's arms and shatters on the floor. The owner shrugs and sweeps the broken glass up and throws it away. The vase that had once held beautiful roses is now forgotten and replaced.

But wait.

What does this have to do with me being glass?

I am the friend who holds beauty when given, the roses.

I then make something of a person's light, a rainbow.

When the beauty is taken, I am ignored.

But if something happens, I break and you replace me.

I am glass, beautiful and replaceable.

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I hope you enjoyed it and understood the meaning behind it.

If you hadn't, please tell me and I'll gladly explain it to you.

Rosa Vazquez.