Circles

I wrote this one late last night
As you've probably gathered from the title, it's about circles.

It isn't a new thought at all,
and I certainly don't claim to be its originator
yet it befuddles me time and again
how magically real circles are.

Once you're in, you can never stop,
on and on it goes in perfect completion,
a single whole,
so "right" to our troubled minds.

Yet circles scare me.

Ceaseless perfection is
well, ceaseless.

Never ending, never beginning, just on and on and on

Nothing new, nothing old,
round and round in the routine uniformity
which we chase so desperately
but can never achieve.

It is so wonderful to me
so incredibly perfect
that our lives are laden with imperfection

As I've often said,
we are creators,
always moving and building and making,
doing something new

No moment is like the one before
so let's stop and see it
before it's gone.

So, here's that poem.

Circles

Circle come and circle go

circle fast and racing

circle spin, doors facing

circle high and circle low

but circle lacing

cannot flow.

Circle run in spiral down

circle down the hall

circle cannot fall

circle around the foggy clown

encircles all

of water's drown.

Circle in and circle out

circle funny, laughing

circle up, store's staffing

circle sits within without

to circle's passing

scream and shout.

Circle by the river bend

circle past the sea

circle sipping tea

circle where the dreams won't end

of circular we

fight or fend.

Circle in my empty cup

circle round and round

circle of empty ground

circle low, to fall and dump

of circles found

clamp and clump.

Circle down the foggy night

circle in my dreams

circle all Earth and themes

circles out to do what's right

what circles mean

is candlelight.