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Marbles
A marble clicks across the space between hardwood boards
A child’s finger flicks it across the floor
Inside
Its intricate whorls and swirls
Flash in a tiny bit of sun
Such a small motion
Can make all the difference.
Surrendering its tiny bits of gravity
Losing control, rolling, all over the floor
Fingers drop one marble after another
Down the marble-tower in a mad shower
Some get stuck along the way, some spin in the curlicues and tunnels
Whirl down miniature black holes and pass through slides
Clinking and chattering, hailing and pattering
Reflection in a marble
Reflection in a steady eye
Watching the marbles fall
One thing is certain—
They all lie still at the bottom and grow silent.
It’s hard to say for sure where one marble falls in and another falls out
So many marbles, so little time—
Like people on the stage of life
Forever whirling in and out of their dress of breath.
The Earth
One cosmic marble thrown from God’s bag
Whirling around the sun
Three hundred sixty-five revolutions per one sun-revolution.
How do we say for sure?
Are other universes calling?
My eyes are like marbles beginning their uncertain journey
At the whim of gravity and the turn of a divine hand.
All the rolling and clashing and pattering
Of seven billion marbles, maybe more
Never knowing where they’re going—
Running forever till their slowing.
Nobody can see inside my clear marble heart
The silent screams and the unseen joys that were there from the start
People are funny
They’re just like marbles
A marble may contain a soul, a world, even a universe
But one thing is certain—
One marble can’t know another.
We’re all trapped inside ourselves,
Never thinking that we are together
Bleeding marbles, moonlit marbles
Gutter marbles, golden marbles—
We all are the same
All the same.
The flick of a marble, such a small motion
Can make all the difference.
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Perhaps it is morbid introspection...but the sight of marbles is enough to provoke an exestential crisis. This poem takes the motion of a marble and turns it into something as big as eternity, then shrinks it to normal size again, leaving the reader's head spinning. It is me being philosophical to yank people's chains...I am not normally philosophical.