January 13, 2011
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My world
My gray world

My lonely world

My small world

It fits
In my hand

An orb
I hold it up
To catch my reflection

And find a room

My room

Beautiful shelves

Hundreds of books
Portraits of family
No door
But for my orb
I cannot reach those shelves
Nor touch the many books
I know naught of that family

I find my room

My study

Comfortable chairs

Sturdy desk
High window
No door
But for my orb
I’ve yet to sit in those chairs
Or stand beside the desk
I know nothing of that view

Except that of my orb

My globe

My world

My life

My existence

My room




Except for me

And my orb

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