Half-Glass of Dilemma
On the table, posing silent,
It taunts our outlook, coyly –
Un-sharing of its true intent,
In Mona Lisa mystery.
We bite at its enticing mass,
That bends our mind in simple bait –
This still-life liquid in a glass,
A frozen frame on reel of fate.
Some say it’s half the way toward gone,
While others see there’s more to pour.
But are we blessed for adding on,
Or simply cursed for drinking more?
Just midway toward decisiveness,
This glass awaits its destiny.
It’s in the hands of thirstiness,
Or trapped by formed capacity.
Seems that we get what we perceive,
In bias of the eye’s invent,
By what it is that we believe –
Or, maybe what is never meant.
Copyright © Robert Waltrip | Year Posted 2025
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