Round-A-Bout
Fortuitous
having hands to hold
onto memories,
yet no mouth to speak of them
Blind
to mistakes repeated,
yet showering the world
in tainted images
Even the mirror
holds onto half-smile secrets
(jealously)
Each a photo-copy,
fading to motes in twinkling eyes
Sitting astride Mobius circle
always thinking,
finality is a bend away
and yet,
I always
finish where I
began.
Copyright © Colin Marschall | Year Posted 2007
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