Teacup

The teacup lies silent on the oak shelf
Chipped on the forehead and the base remains stained
Small, fragile
Yet even moreso now
I see its wrinkles
I hear the wisdom on its eye
So dull now is that old, painted on intricate design
So dull now is my teacup
But I remember
When it told stories
When it laughed
When it comforted the tears that dripped softly down its sides
And I remember its childhood
When dress up games were truth
Accents coated tongues
Stomachs settled and souls sighed
I remember that lone teacup
So vibrant
And now it sits, hidden
Afraid
Still waiting
Now no one sees my teacup
No one sees the lost glimmer echoing inside
Because no one even bothers
And someday I'll return to find
With no influence of mine
A child in her place