The glass ball cowers.
I peer, steer the course of time
Just hours
away from this reality
As the claw of dissonance takes another stab at me.
A mentality,
Of which I can’t confuse
With freedom
Lest I long to lose
All I have -
Which is little, but little grows.
As the frosty slabs beneath my feet remind me,
That I could become so unsightly,
In the claw through the sphere.
To reappear. But to wish for something else.
But I can preemptive strike
Can I? Can I not…
O that bitter taste
That continuum, that ethereal paste
Which I mustn’t waste.
Lest the claw of dissonance takes another stab.
I mustn’t give it the chance, because that sphere concerns only me.
Consternation from a possibility.
