Circle

Little circles

turning round my head

like wheels spinning

like a line reread

clicking and clacking

ticking and tocking

overwhelming

yet comforting

a race never-ending

a space never filling

circle, circle, circle

dizzying in its

repetition

like a roundabout

hold on tight

or let gravity

have its part

turn, turn, turn

painted smiles

spiral down my face

laughter

hidden in that disgrace

STOP

and no more circles

just straight lines

give me a push

I’ll take the spin

a line is just a line

but a circle leaves a grin.

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smoke rings

Fortune smiled upon me,

in this smokey room,

music lulling the senses,

into a state of leisure,

deep drag and a puff of smoke,

accidental rings float in the air,

thoughts drift like the smoke,

causing me nothing but thoughtful daydreams,

of small rooms,

of nothing,

just waiting on this semblance of life,

turning like those short-lived rings,

a small breath,

and they are gone.

 

Stepping.

It is the reality of life,

the hellos and goodbyes,

the lift you ups

the crashing downs,

the love in eyes

and the loss of hope,

the happy and the sad.

It is the reality in life,

the fantasy of mind,

where the story is told,

without boundaries,

but there are fences hidden,

along dusty roads,

that you only see,

when looking.

It is the reality of life,

the endless circle,

that is walked along,

wearing thin the dirt,

and trampling the grass,

as my steps hit hard,

never reaching the end,

a place to sleep,

for the weary.