The creative side of me has been slumbering for a few months. Then yesterday, a friend's bubble blowing activity finally woke the little poet.
Childlike and innocent,
Bubbles are blown in the air.
Then one separates, lonesome.
It floats away, shimmers fair.
My hands reach up high,
I wave them about,
Trying to keep the
Thing still hovering.
Pretending to be an Airbender,
I walk and twirl with precision
So as to not lose track of the sphere.
My hands caress it by using wind.
I wish this could go on..
Forever and ever,
But that won't be so.... no..
It's not an endeavor...
A tiny, circular object,
It is oh so frail, I know.
People chatter all around,
But I don't care, this is my show.
A simple, little sphere
Made of common hand soap,
Blown through a plain, white straw
Is my wonderful joy.
I dance and spin,
My hands move calm,
Then a bit fast.
Too fast. Sphere pops.
The circular diamond bursts
I watch it in slow motion.
Minuscule pieces of suds.
I am filled with emotion.
Then I feel my phone ring.
Time for reality.
