Porcelain Poem by The voice of silence .

I Am a Seam

I am a seam embroidered on porcelain,
A fracture that bends, but is not broken.
Within me — a silent conversation,
Like ice, like a whisper behind a bow.

Flowers bloom inside me like blue smoke,
Like shadows of former outlines.
Do not touch — they grow unseen
Between transparent oceans.

I am fused from shards of night,
From lunar dust, from burning.
My cracks are like hints,
Like a map of forgotten dimensions.

But if your fingers — the wind,
Touch the edges unseen —
I will scatter like light on glass,
Like an echo in an unresponsive room.

Do not say, "I will fix it" —
You know it hurts what is glued.
Just stand. I am so fragile
That even silence — inadvertently.

I am a scar cut by a razor
On a cup with a faded pattern.
Touch me — and between your fingers
Will remain only chime and pain.

Do not kiss — you will cut your lips,
Do not breathe — it will shatter to pieces.
I have long since ceased to be whole,
I am a shard within my own skin.

And if you suddenly wish to mend —
Look: blood has dried in your palms.
I did not wound — it's just that
You forgot I am sharpness.