I have a vase that is all pink with stars on it. I have it in my bedroom next to my bed.My little sister has a vase as well. I think my little sister likes her’s too. My whole family has there on vase. I love vase’s.
The vase laid on the floor in a million pieces. My mom loved that vase. Whenever dad brought home flowers she’d get that vase out. He’s not gonna be bringing home flowers anymore.
I have a vase that is all pink with stars on it. I have it in my bedroom next to my bed.My little sister has a vase as well. I think my little sister likes her’s too.
The vase stood on my shelf. It was filled with beautiful smelling flowers that my husband bought for me for my birthday. The smell of the flowers filled the room with a aromatic
What became of it? Lost in a world of too straight-laced beauty. It was so odd so ugly I couldn’t help but love it but I couldn’t bear to share it with a flower.
The vase was a bright blistering red, it looked almost as if an apparition had arisen out of it. The vase, with its curved handles and glossed edges resembled something as if out of a dream…it was simply beautiful, and also simple bland. It represented wholly what he had sought after for his entire life, but also so much more.
As her fingers shaped the ceramic, she thought who she might give this piece to. Her last piece to be made as a university student of art. Traditionally, it should have gone to her mother, grandmother, someone close who financially supported her when she chose to spend four years studying such an abstract thing.
The lilies dangled limply in the crystal vase on the console table. She’d left them too long, but somehow she had to hold onto the memory just one more day. Tomorrow She would through them out f
He slammed the door in his mothers face and as he rushed by, the ceramic vase, his father’s last artistic piece, crashed to the ground. He didn’t hear it; the sound of the lush blues and greens of the ceramic as it shattered across the tiles was almost more than his grief stricken heart can bear.
i broke the vase because i could. the memories were just that. she would be upset. but i didn’t care. dont throw things in the house oops. one of a kind you say? thats what they told you huh? try macys…
the vase was curvy and smooth, reaching up in a slender arch that was beautiful, simple, yet oh so delicate and elegant. sometimes her neck reminded me of that and reminded me of who she was. soft, delicate and easily breakable.
The vase shimmered, reflecting the lights hanging above in the chandalier. My eyes broke contact with the reflective surface, looking up to see Christian’s angry amber orbs staring at me.
She was just so angry! looking around the room she picked up the first thing she saw and threw it at his head, it was a large blue vase. He dropped to the floor and dark red blood started seeping on the floor.
you are my muse..I think of you and then do the right thing..too bad your only reason for living is becoming popular..you lost so much chasing this carrot..like humpty dumpty or a broken chinese vase
She lifted the vase with nimble fingers. “This,” she told me, “is what my mother left for me before she died.” Her mother; billions of stories seemed to leak from the gentle design on the porcelain and from her pretty pink lips. “Its invaluable,” she said, “from before my great grandmother and my mother loved it greatly.” It fell out of her hands just then, almost as if my accident, but from the look in her eyes I knew the truth. She stared at the shattered remains on the ground, like limbs from dead bodies and said, “I suppose she loved it more then she loved me.”
There’s a vase on the table that holds the last flowers he ever bought for her. The vase is cheap, and ceramic, bought at a dollar store on his way home from work. An afterthought, like their marriage.
this vase is shattered, broken pieces glitter in front of my eyes, the wet rose smashed and crushed in front of me, glass and thorns free the blood behind me fingers
“Vase. Rhymes with case. Like a suitcase.”
“No, it’s VASE and rhymes with GAUZE.”
“B.S.,” she declared. “Then why spell it v-a-s-e?”
“Though, rough, through. Like it matters in English?”
The ugly vase has roses. I want to be something significant, remembered like those ruby red roses. That my measly time on this clump of dirt matters. That no matter what they take away when they cut in and take out, that a part of me remains to show them – all of them – look dammitt, I was here. I want- God I don’t know what I want. When you think your time is — your life is— a taxi with its meter running. I am something more than a faceless name chiseled on a piece of granite. I was a girl, a daughter, a wife, a mother and in the end, all I am is what you remember of me. So remember my laugh, inappropriate when I was nervous; my closed smile because I hated my teeth. Remember me before all this. The tubes, the wireless, the incessant hiss of the machine that pumps life into a lifeless shell. I am still in here. I am still laughing at your stupid jokes, reprimanding you for not doing your homework because you were up all night with me. I am still here, but you have to let go of my hand and you have to walk away. Close your eyes and take the picture that remains in your memories with you. Not this broken body, not this ugly vase. I don’t have the strength to let you go. You have to be my strength and take the roses from the vase with you.
The three-year-old handed me the flowers and I smiled, as the look on her face was of pure content. I put the flowers in the vase, and placed it on the kitchen table for all to see.
a vase holds flowers, keeping them alive for a little while, bringing the splendor of the outdoors indoors. Vases are also useful for carrying liquid, for putting out fires, drinking out of, and watering plants.
The vase fell to the floor, but it didn’t make a sound. All she could do was stare, jaw hanging open. She didn’t hear anything really. The pain she felt in her back was all that consumed her at the moment. She hadn’t expected it; wasn’t ready for it. No one would try… Would they?
It was the most calamitous moment of their fragile, pampered lives. I had, in a moment of carelessness, knocked over their treasured red-and-white vase (they annoyingly insisted upon pronouncing it “vaass”) and shattered it into pieces on the cold marble floor. The wife even burst into tears. I could never live this way.
Petals floated about in water. No tide to move them or carrying them away, floating fr the rest of their short lives. The glass reflects the light around them but its not the same thing as being living and free. It feels like they were once a part of something, but they can no longer remember what that was. although they remain beautifulk for short times they all eventually wither in the end.
It sat on the table, crystal-clear, empty. Around it lay several beads of varying sizes, shapes, and color. The beads had a thin layer of dust coating them.
the beautiful dynamic walls that encase the world we live in. A structure thats beautiful and stable.
Holding the contents for the spectrum of life, we all fill this vase. This vase is our life, our ground, this vase is our own.
I have a vase that is all pink with stars on it. I have it in my bedroom next to my bed.My little sister has a vase as well. I think my little sister likes her’s too. My whole family has there on vase. I love vase’s.
The vase laid on the floor in a million pieces. My mom loved that vase. Whenever dad brought home flowers she’d get that vase out. He’s not gonna be bringing home flowers anymore.
I have a vase that is all pink with stars on it. I have it in my bedroom next to my bed.My little sister has a vase as well. I think my little sister likes her’s too.
The vase sat on the shelf with pink stripes.on a black table. It was very big.
gosh such a wonder ful
The vase stood on my shelf. It was filled with beautiful smelling flowers that my husband bought for me for my birthday. The smell of the flowers filled the room with a aromatic
Tears seep out of its thin crack.
What became of it? Lost in a world of too straight-laced beauty. It was so odd so ugly I couldn’t help but love it but I couldn’t bear to share it with a flower.
Vase. For flowers.
Vast space. Distance in between people. Family. Lovers.
Base. Foundation. Strong beginning. A start.
The vase was a bright blistering red, it looked almost as if an apparition had arisen out of it. The vase, with its curved handles and glossed edges resembled something as if out of a dream…it was simply beautiful, and also simple bland. It represented wholly what he had sought after for his entire life, but also so much more.
As her fingers shaped the ceramic, she thought who she might give this piece to. Her last piece to be made as a university student of art. Traditionally, it should have gone to her mother, grandmother, someone close who financially supported her when she chose to spend four years studying such an abstract thing.
The lilies dangled limply in the crystal vase on the console table. She’d left them too long, but somehow she had to hold onto the memory just one more day. Tomorrow She would through them out f
He slammed the door in his mothers face and as he rushed by, the ceramic vase, his father’s last artistic piece, crashed to the ground. He didn’t hear it; the sound of the lush blues and greens of the ceramic as it shattered across the tiles was almost more than his grief stricken heart can bear.
i broke the vase because i could. the memories were just that. she would be upset. but i didn’t care. dont throw things in the house oops. one of a kind you say? thats what they told you huh? try macys…
Broken, shattered vase
flowers once
now on the floor, whithered and alone
the vase was curvy and smooth, reaching up in a slender arch that was beautiful, simple, yet oh so delicate and elegant. sometimes her neck reminded me of that and reminded me of who she was. soft, delicate and easily breakable.
The vase shimmered, reflecting the lights hanging above in the chandalier. My eyes broke contact with the reflective surface, looking up to see Christian’s angry amber orbs staring at me.
I gulped.
She was just so angry! looking around the room she picked up the first thing she saw and threw it at his head, it was a large blue vase. He dropped to the floor and dark red blood started seeping on the floor.
This vase holds the worlds most beautiful flower. Illuminating even the saddest day, but in a moment of anger this can be shattered.
you are my muse..I think of you and then do the right thing..too bad your only reason for living is becoming popular..you lost so much chasing this carrot..like humpty dumpty or a broken chinese vase
She lifted the vase with nimble fingers. “This,” she told me, “is what my mother left for me before she died.” Her mother; billions of stories seemed to leak from the gentle design on the porcelain and from her pretty pink lips. “Its invaluable,” she said, “from before my great grandmother and my mother loved it greatly.” It fell out of her hands just then, almost as if my accident, but from the look in her eyes I knew the truth. She stared at the shattered remains on the ground, like limbs from dead bodies and said, “I suppose she loved it more then she loved me.”
Closed in:
storage for contained beauty
I try to save you
but you won’t live
or breathe within
these glass walls
She was like a vase, as well as the flower that was held in it.
There’s a vase on the table that holds the last flowers he ever bought for her. The vase is cheap, and ceramic, bought at a dollar store on his way home from work. An afterthought, like their marriage.
the lights at night reflected your body just right
and I knew that I wanted you
this unstoppable craving
I shall name tag it lust
and erase poison
this vase is shattered, broken pieces glitter in front of my eyes, the wet rose smashed and crushed in front of me, glass and thorns free the blood behind me fingers
“Vase. Rhymes with case. Like a suitcase.”
“No, it’s VASE and rhymes with GAUZE.”
“B.S.,” she declared. “Then why spell it v-a-s-e?”
“Though, rough, through. Like it matters in English?”
The ugly vase has roses. I want to be something significant, remembered like those ruby red roses. That my measly time on this clump of dirt matters. That no matter what they take away when they cut in and take out, that a part of me remains to show them – all of them – look dammitt, I was here. I want- God I don’t know what I want. When you think your time is — your life is— a taxi with its meter running. I am something more than a faceless name chiseled on a piece of granite. I was a girl, a daughter, a wife, a mother and in the end, all I am is what you remember of me. So remember my laugh, inappropriate when I was nervous; my closed smile because I hated my teeth. Remember me before all this. The tubes, the wireless, the incessant hiss of the machine that pumps life into a lifeless shell. I am still in here. I am still laughing at your stupid jokes, reprimanding you for not doing your homework because you were up all night with me. I am still here, but you have to let go of my hand and you have to walk away. Close your eyes and take the picture that remains in your memories with you. Not this broken body, not this ugly vase. I don’t have the strength to let you go. You have to be my strength and take the roses from the vase with you.
I want to be inside you, like flowers in a vase. Let your love fill me with the bright life.
The three-year-old handed me the flowers and I smiled, as the look on her face was of pure content. I put the flowers in the vase, and placed it on the kitchen table for all to see.
a vase holds flowers, keeping them alive for a little while, bringing the splendor of the outdoors indoors. Vases are also useful for carrying liquid, for putting out fires, drinking out of, and watering plants.
The vase fell to the floor, but it didn’t make a sound. All she could do was stare, jaw hanging open. She didn’t hear anything really. The pain she felt in her back was all that consumed her at the moment. She hadn’t expected it; wasn’t ready for it. No one would try… Would they?
Hold me together,
when I fall apart,
leave me alone,
and break my heart.
My love like flowers hold,
stay with me,
please,
break the mold
It was the most calamitous moment of their fragile, pampered lives. I had, in a moment of carelessness, knocked over their treasured red-and-white vase (they annoyingly insisted upon pronouncing it “vaass”) and shattered it into pieces on the cold marble floor. The wife even burst into tears. I could never live this way.
Petals floated about in water. No tide to move them or carrying them away, floating fr the rest of their short lives. The glass reflects the light around them but its not the same thing as being living and free. It feels like they were once a part of something, but they can no longer remember what that was. although they remain beautifulk for short times they all eventually wither in the end.
The vase sat empty… Her birthday came and went and nothing. Mother’s Day, Valentine’s Day their anniversary… nothing… How easy are flowers anyway!
A vase, just like life, can be beautiful and always unique. But it only takes a gentle shove to completely shatter both.
the vase was not moved by the impact, as a matter of fact it did not move at all, it stayed there as a silent witness of the gunshot
It sat on the table, crystal-clear, empty. Around it lay several beads of varying sizes, shapes, and color. The beads had a thin layer of dust coating them.
the beautiful dynamic walls that encase the world we live in. A structure thats beautiful and stable.
Holding the contents for the spectrum of life, we all fill this vase. This vase is our life, our ground, this vase is our own.