The pitch sky rended by lightning;
an ancient doctrine shattered through courage;
but a promise, like a vase, demolished in a yell of destruction.
The firmament is glued back together, zipped up;
the archaic belief is uprooted, a new tradition sown;
but the promise vase is shattered, intangibly gone.
Shards of porcelain lodge daily into the foot,
a subtle, painful, repetitive, just punishment.
A frantic hunt immediately begins for the scattered pieces,
eyes straining to glimpse a possible universe which involves reconstruction.
Some of the pieces thrown away,
some of the pieces lost.
Some of the pieces returned by friends and strangers,
some of the pieces so small they became part of the everything.
And then, relief flows, some segments reconnect.
From the base a signature emerges,
a 200 year old connection; survival.
The pastoral scenes reappear,
pieces too hastily reglued timber again,
even more shards overwhelm.
a different vase is created
Todays poetry contest entry was written by Claire Robey.
Do you think it could possibly be one of the best new poems in 2015?