Brilliance.

Chipped dirty and empty.
The vessel in a dark room.
When outside rain falls in plenty.
That could fill and wash away the gloom.

But on a shelf marked to be fixed.
With the idea do not use.
Gathering dust with little nicks.
It bears the silent abuse.

Till the rain drips through the cracks.
On a smooth downward track.
Across wood and stone it pours.
Till it reaches the floor.

A drop turns to drip.
With  a plop and a plip.
And in minutes muddled.
Becomes a puddle.

Until the unused is used for more.
Than to keep a ring of dust on the counter.
But a pool off the floor.
And as the water flows it is cleaner.