Little circles

turning round my head

like wheels spinning

like a line reread

clicking and clacking

ticking and tocking


yet comforting

a race never-ending

a space never filling

circle, circle, circle

dizzying in its


like a roundabout

hold on tight

or let gravity

have its part

turn, turn, turn

painted smiles

spiral down my face


hidden in that disgrace


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.

Memory lost without regret.

And I listened to echoes,

as they rang through my head,

like images whispered,

from the long since dead.

And I wondered their meaning,

as I strained to hear,

voices as familiar,

as a lost loves tear.

And I went dreaming,

on a past left to die,

the pallbearers carried me,

as the echoes said goodbye.

And I regret nothing,

from a grave made by me,

for life is a journey,

it is what it will be.