The Dance of Chance
Glimmering orbs, so frail, so clear,
Drift in the glow of fate’s frontier.
Born on breezes, wild or kind,
Their paths entwine, then slip behind.
Each sphere a tale, both carved and held,
Of hearts made whole, or softly felled.
Through love’s warm hold or anger’s blaze,
They etch their arcs in unseen ways.
Some meet in whispers, soft and brief,
Others crack loud in shards of grief.
Yet every scar, though swift to fade,
Binds lingering threads where ties were made.
In storms of wrath or seas of grace,
They shine one breath, then lose their place.
Each gleams a truth, a life’s refrain,
Of fleeting joy, of quiet pain.
Though time unwinds their fragile forms,
Their echoes hum through silent storms.
Each bond, a chord that softly sings,
Of love’s sweet ache, of broken wings.
In Chance’s sway, they soar, they sink,
Their traces linger on the brink.
For even when their light is gone,
Their touch lives bright in hearts they’ve drawn
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