Like you,

Crystal ball.

I too, 

Tend to fall.

Held in hands

Too big/ too small.

Like you, 

Small sphere. 

The future is never

Crystal clear.

It is rolled under fingers

That smudge and smear.

Like you, 

Who shines in the sun,

I too,

See the world as one.

Like you, 

I hope to help,

And one day roll

Far from this dusty shelf.

I would much rather be left center on a table, 

Gleaming and glistening and easily able 

To decode what the shaman’s call and entail.

Like you, quite delicate but not quite frail.

Yet, maybe my home is not on the shelf or table 

Or hands that call and pray and tangle

In affairs that should be left to angels.

Maybe I, too, can look from all angles. 

Yes, maybe like you,

I know my true home

Sitting snuggly 

Between granite stone.

Where I can rest

Warm and alone. 

Yes, maybe like you

I am far too often used

For hands that only 

Take and abuse

All your gifts, and

Wear them like shoes.

Yes, maybe like you, 

I could happily reside 

Somewhere on

A quiet mountain side;

Releasing the spells spoken over

Me that got trapped inside.