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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Her…the world.

There is something about her,

Something that only I see.

She is the world,

As much as one can be.

Her smile is as the ocean,

So wide and clear,

Her heart as the fields,

Open far and near.

She is subtle,

In her manner and poise,

she is quiet, unassuming,

Yet full of sweet noise.

She is hard and soft,

Confused, but sane,

Your heart simply breaks,

When she is in pain.

She is the world,

From what I see,

For the world is

Always spinning and free.