The crystal ball With fear I hold, I hold the ball in my hand. Steady and firm I stand, as the wind beats me with its sand. Harder and harder as I try, I try not to shut my eyes. But out of my eyes come the tears, warm and cooling and dropping onto the sphere. So for the ball not to fall, I face down with growing care. But it falls and hits the ground, after which all goes beyond repair.
next previous back
Poems Short Stories Essays Contact Home