Some call it a vase & some call it a vase I alternate depending on what mood I’m in I’ll choose to say vase today But regardless, it’s symbolic of a people A great people that were displaced Like the pieces of this broken vase
Scattered & distorted Picked up & aborted Moved & confused But they remain the same Different pieces of the same vase Many linking to one One land. One nation. One people. One greater whole. That we’ll never know But understand that it once was It once was It once was And always will be One beautiful vase
I am a piece of this broken vase I may not look the same as the others But the whole is incomplete without me My matter is tattered But that doesn’t matter Because I am no less than the bigger pieces Nor larger than those Whole colors are exposed And fit the unity of the once believed identity From which eternity birthed infinity Which calculates as the sum I’ll never know
Pick up the pieces I challenge you to find one From the same mold - young or old That you’ll recognize as an equal… Contribution without exclusion Considered a mere sequal Embrace the difference And recognize the similarities You’re part of the same vase
Yes, it may’ve been broken Beaten, hidden & damaged Some were lost along the way And others seemed to manage It’s not complete Without unity How can we recreate? But if you constantly search And pick up the pieces One at a time And keep them together Bound by need You’ll gather the remains and be amazed When you start to see What is still the makings of One beautiful vase.