The Bubble's Song

A myriad of colors are we,
created upon the hand and lips of Thee,
sifting through the air heedlessly,
unconcerned with hands that grasp,
and prove our fragile, floating frailty.

A cleanly smell we carry
on our shimmering,transparent bodies.
Traveling upon the winds and breath,
that push us to the limit of our depths.

Without a care,
Without a cause,
We travel till the time
we're gone.

With laughter or tears
that fill the void,where round and clear
we finally dropped,
leaving behind our own sticky tears.

And lo the laughing voices mock us,
and in our short existence stop us.
And how the crying faces understand us,
as your painful existence imitates us.

Yet no one bothers to ask us,
as we float around and pop.
SO CARELESS!

-written 10/23/06-

Your thoughts are welcome...