Round and Round

Funny how all these branching roads so frequently turn into circles. Before, I dreamed of adventure. I dreamed of service, of travel, of the unknown; of things few others get to claim. And now that such are mine, or elsewise in easy reach, I find the impending voyage home more than luxurious, more than exquisite; I just want this road to circle there for longer than this brief visit - but ever will it lead on. Before, I made my way by the touch of my muse, the caress of the wind, arms of the rain and light of the moon. For months I was grounded, viciously, to reality; forced to walk amid an effusion of sweat, pain, and pride. And now that those two worlds have finally met, I'm gradually circling back to the more ephemeral world of yesteryear. Before, I yearned for love - longed for the sweet embrace of one desired and devoted; one to walk with, truly akin by the heart. Now, 'tis much the same - 'twas put on pause for a time, and I can't speak with certainty on whether I was closer then, or now. But after that hiatus from the heart, I've quickly made my way 'round, to dreams of a woman who laughs and dances in the rain. You watch yourself move on, change a little. You look in the rear-view mirror as you drive these dark, foggy roads - you watch growth and tremors in your reflection in the pond, and see the past in the future. The circle of life isn't simply a song, an idea - 'tis a sight that unfolds before every eye, if one cares enough to watch.