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.
Post Comments
Poetrysoup is an environment of encouragement and growth so only provide specific positive comments that indicate what you appreciate about the poem. Negative comments will result your account being banned.
Please
Login
to post a comment
Turn off ads, get more exposure for your poetry, and get more features with a
Premium Membership.
