The Answer

Bag of marbles.

They all spill out.

So primitive for our times

These days are so tech inclined.

I see them as they tap

The floor with a physical proof

Of their gravitational pull

And realism on a roll.

Down some stairs one goes

Away from the others

Though they too begin to spread

Away from the sound; unexpected.
An accidental wave of life
Which has me spilling them
Is something of the past
That went by too fast.
I see them, everywhere.
I think about their red and white color.
They remind me of blood cells.
Remind me of my collection of sea shells.
Still moving away from where they fell,
Hitting the floor
Like a sound board
And ones are hitting others with a shatter.
And I am thinking,
'This is life.'
That is to say the pull
Of emotional strife.
Blood spilling through with a cry.
Much like in the journey of a person.
The story of her scattered movement.
A challenging push for improvement.
That is what I learned even as I looked
In the dark at the marble,
Down on a stair the glass appears.
Like a star.
Shining bright from an angle.
Like a sun, the planets and a linear untangle.
Hanging so heavily
Is the movement of sound...
I hear it like a whisper
As the spheres find

Their placings on the ground.

~ B