Balls of different shapes, colours and sizes,
Juggled swiftly with the help of many different guises;
Efficiency and control are at the heart of the game,
To keep the momentum going, the balance the same.
Concentration and focus is what it demands,
It’s the balls themselves that bark the commands;
Rate their importance, keep them all going,
Look out for new ones – they’ll creep in without you knowing.
Occasionally one gets dropped, is it really no big deal?
Has anyone noticed the shame that you feel?
You pick it up, resume the pace, swift as before,
Now determination not to fail consumes you even more.
But it’s tiring, it’s tough and you start to slow down,
Your struggle is revealed by your deep frown;
Yet you keep going because failure is not a possibility,
You try to smother the frown with false positivity.
Then one day you wake up. You’ve dropped them all.
Every single one could not avoid The Fall;
They lie scattered in front of you as though to mock,
Your mind and body are blank as though in shock.
What now? What to do about each of those balls?
Do you reach out to grab one or try to grab them all?
Do you actually have the strength to juggle anymore?
Or will you give up completely and lie with them on the floor?
