This bowl is void. It’s contents emptied
Again and again by flowing into others
To fill them with the waters they needed.
The lines from all the past pourings stain and mark
The worn, inner walls and alter the muted hues of
This ancient, porcelain relic from another time.
Held and handled by callused and careless
Aquarian fingers that knew not what they carried
Until they finally placed it upon a shelf in silent isolation.
Forgotten, alone, discarded and disheartened
From too many years, too many chips, too many cracks.
Until it was no longer that which it could be or was,
But became something that it was never meant to be.