Illusion

An orb of promise, hope and possibility
Descends upon an awaiting crowd.
Palms held skyward and eager;
Fingers unfurled like blooms.
The determined sure hands of believers
Jostle with the quivering fingers of the non.

A minnow in my mind
Bubbles to the top of my fish bowl memory,
Where my non-believing hands
Had once let hopes and expectation
Plummet, uncontested, to the ground
With a predictable, uninspiring thud.

But not I, determined my little man,
With the prize securely grasped in both hands.
“I caught the ball”, he declared to his departing contesters,
Before throwing it absentmindedly back to the pitcher.
“Ahhh”, I finally see.
It had been just a ball
All along.

© Strauss
3rd May 2010