Shattered Marbles

Marbles break easy and without extreme heat, cannot be morphed. They are cold and tend to get lost and we find them in the darkest tunnels of our vents...

Marbles roll out onto the floor as I hope for something more; 

A bag that could contain them, 

All of my glass tones of yellow and blue

One with a tie that held and with material that when dropped, 

The marbles do not shatter… 

One that held different colored marbles, different tones… 

Oh why? Why was I stuck with this soul,

One made of glass that can’t mold? 

One that is always so lost and so cold…

Author's Note

I may have lost a few marbles, but I think I caught them before they rolled into the vents. Perhaps one, however, is one the edge of the tile deciding which way to roll.

Reviews

[Not Your Typical New Yo..]

Very interesting concept you have here. I remember my teenage years, and they were a confusing time. I remembered I wanted to be a movie director, then a video game designer, then back to a movie director, then back to a video game designer.

Of course, as a teenager you begin having clicks. They were the popular students, the misfits, the Goths, the students that preferred to be by themselves. It was a hard, confusing time. You want to fit in, be someone you couldn't be.

Your poem brings me back a lot of memories. In time, you'll find yourself. I never found myself until I flunked out of college, trying to pursue my dream of becoming a writer.

[Lusus Naturae]

This was more so out of inspiration from a friend. I am overly confident in my luscious self