We are all walking around
Broken vases
Cracked, leaking.
There are rote mundane, plain things about us.
Some extraordinary.
Hidden gems in the depths of us.
That cave very few can touch
Dark and light
At the same time.
We crack at different times
Under different measures of gravity.
Like carousel ponies
Some up some down
All rotating around
The same axis.
We display our paint differently
Each adorned by the skin creasing
Increments of time
Dotted by our paths
Wandering
Lost then found by our own eyes
Illuminated
In their own time.