Mosaic of Life


A poem dedicated to Muggles.

The colours leap and pulsate
as they roll and turn, determined by
speed of hand and coated grime.
Glimpses of reds, flashes of blues ,
yellows and greens only seen at rest.
embedded; spiralled, smudged,
or wonderfully clear. To the child’s eye
a captured treasure, teasing and irrisistible,
begging tactile contact. Each better than the last;
more pattern, brighter, larger, heavier.
Momentary, then cast aside, until the next time,
or the sudden aquisition of new beauties
to add to the collection and admire.

Watch them roll.
Tiny glass spheres
of colour and magic.
Spinning rainbows of splintered light.
reflecting their patterns as they travel.
Undaunted by the pitted surface,
it’s obstacles deflecting their path,
they quietly glide along the chosen path,
gently oscillating before their goal;
Motionless, they lose the transcient sparkles
as they return to their more sombre livery.

On examination, the eye of the marble
surprises those who take the time to look.
For each design, though similar to others, is unique
and beautiful in it’s own way.
The blue twisted with white is perhaps a fountain,
or a waterfall; the red, a blood coloured berry.
Green reminds us of verdant pastures,
and browns and oranges, the earth.
Or perhaps in a green twist we read jealousy,
or in white , purity, the beauty of a swan.
The gold of the sun or the depiction of mans’ greed?
The silver edging hints of glistening drops of rain
clinging to the edges of nature, or maybe, the tears,
shed for thousands of years, clinging to the edges of sanity.

But little does the child think of this when,
with carefree abandon, he throws
his treasured piece and invites destiny to
carve it’s future, and with it, his!

© DF 2007



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