Crimson through the cracks

Beautiful roses of red and white,

Lush green leaves that just fit right,

A garden complete in tender bloom —

If it sounds too much, forgive my plume.

The pride of beauty had taken over my head,

I blushed in the reflection of my roses’ red,

I was the center of others’ envy,

Yet stayed unbothered, calm, and free.

Each morn I bathed in golden rays,

In the warmth that hit my glassy face,

My skin gleamed in its light,

Pure and perfect, dazzling bright!

I smiled through my fragrant flowers,

As I finished my refreshing  shower,

With joy I sat beside the window,

Watching the birds dance to and fro.

The proud vase of the house I stood,

A charm of glass, both bright and good.

My body glowed with colours deep,

Guarding blooms I vowed to keep

One cloudy day, I sat by the sill,

I noticed my water was not to my fill.

I looked around with my eyes wide open,

To realise that a small part of me was broken.

I wondered what happened to my skin that was perfect

Was it the kid who scratched, the bird that pecked?

The loving hands that held too tight?

Or time itself, that dulled my light?

When my dear master filled me again,

Heedless of my hidden pain,

Prettier flowers were added into me,

And once more I felt carefree!

I smiled again, as I had before,

Unaware of my scar growing more.

One evening, under the dusk’s light,

I saw my flowers no longer bright.

My joy turned slowly into fear,

As fading beauty drew too near.

When my master came this time

The clock struck a warning chime!

I tried to hide my flaws yet again,

But my master saw well through my pain.

I clutched my flowers, trembling tight,

But he lifted me despite my fight.

Agony grew deeper, as my master

Lifted me up in the air faster,

For a second, time stood still—

And my heart broke against my will.

With pleading eyes, I looked at him,

As the twilight’s glow grew faint and dim,

I felt his sorrow stronger than mine,

And two hearts broke at the same time.

It must have been but seconds passed,

Before the spell of time unmasked,

I shattered loud upon the sill,

Blaming myself — proud, and still.

In shards I lay, pale and small,

The glow once bright had left it all.

I was no more the vase of grace and glow,

Just a broken glass that couldn’t show.

I whispered, ‘Is this the end I deserve?

What did I do for fate to serve?’

Was it my flaw that led me to this?

Or was it my master’s heart gone amiss?'

As I sat in the darkness of night,

My vision blurred, denying sight.

How it shatters my heart to see,

My roses thrown apart from me..

In the darkness, I faintly see

My master limping towards me,

He knelt beside me, still and sore,

And wept for what was gone — and more.

My love and loyalty meant none,

For my small flaw left me undone.

Did I fall because I was flawed?

Or because his soul was deeply scarred?

Did he break me for his own despair?

Or was I the mirror of pain he couldn’t bear?

I knew my glass would fade one day,

But not that it would end this tragic way.

He wrapped his palm around my shard,

His trembling grip was firm and hard,

I felt his warmth, his pulse, his fear,

His pain and mine, both drawing near.

Suddenly, his grip grew slack, leaving me free.

When something cold flood beneath me,

As I heaved a sigh of breath, I realized,

I was flowing in a pool of despise.

Despise of the man who left me shattered,

Over my shards, whose blood was spattered.

I call him Man, for my master lies dead,

Stilled in the pool where our fates bled.

He broke me down because he was broke within,

And my jagged edge repaid his sin.

A fragment of mine had pierced his heart,

Just as his hands had torn me apart.

He shattered me because he was shattered himself,

And a piece of my shattered shard did the same.

It took the life of the one who took mine,

We're the same, isn't this the sign?

A little flaw of his, a little of mine,

Together sealed our single line.

I rest now in his quiet flood,

Cold as glass, yet warm with blood.

My roses lie torn, cast far from me,

Yet some strange beauty still clings to me.

A smell that was faint seems to grow

For I still gleam in a crimson hue,

Not from the roses... but from you.