Where the young man had flicked it into limbo
With nimble fingers, as hard as he is able.
And so it dances, drifting far away.
It is a ballerina oblivious of her audience,
A dizzy child drunken with play,
A windmill laughing in a whispering breeze,
A small shot racing round a Russian roulette.
Blurring into a brindled bronze ball,
It shifts slowly on the marble surface
While, in fear, the owner takes in all,
Aware of that decision he must make,
Which draws a fine line between guilt and regret,
A sort of deal you either leave or take.
In his confusion, courage or cowardice,
His trust in fate, a leap of faith.
Starting to stumble, it loses its balance.
He dreads that Luck may do him wrong,
For the crossroad he reaches only asks him once.
Quickly he snatches before it makes a noise
He tells himself he will take that chance
And listen to his heart, his voice.
Fate the merchant lets you know the price,
But it is you who makes that choice.
Rachael Lum
A poem I recited for the Creative Writing Open Mic.
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