The sun sparkles
And illuminates,
The glass edge,
Of my soul,
Vibrating with life.
The rising pitch of surrounding voices,
Conducted by my own,
Melts it razer thin,
Threatening to shatter,
And scatter,
Into many fragments.
I forget to stop and measure,
The damage I have done,
I could see,
If I paused,
That the golden lines are always longer,
Spinning consistently out,
Strong enough to hold,
Despite the holes.