My Cardboard Balcony

I Dreamed The World by Belinda Roddie I dreamed the world was made from bits of gold and silver crafted in a holy fire. They wrote about it in the tales of old and sang the sagas using flute or lyre. I saw the shadows holding hands at night and blades of grass kiss in the light of day. Each continent was teeming with delight and happiness brimming in bowls of clay. I dreamed the world was crafted by a smith whose anvil gleamed like old Apollo's eye and whose hammer sang and synchronized with the humming choirs with heads raised to the sky. I dreamed it all within a morning cold - I dreamed the world was made from bits of gold.

I was in the process of pulling myself out of my latest lethargic episode of misery when the doorbell rang, and the Grim Reaper was standing there. Only instead of a black robe and scythe, he was wearing a blue Hawaiian shirt and carrying a steel lunchbox. He offered me something from it, but I declined. "You just seem so sad," the Grim Reaper said to me. "How about a bag of pretzels?" "I think I'll pass," I replied.