The Circle
This path beneath me reverberates its inevitable decay.
As the seminal seasons die I ask how my eyes became so numb?
Are these recurring dreams not my own?
I shouted the nights into coming storms.
Surely no man can lead me to my own salvation.
This much I know so bound to the dirt I carve my desire.
Craving my own existence I close me eyes and breath.
Even If I die of age or ail I'll smile still.
A life lived is a lesson learned.
The blooming forest will always be reborn and then die again.
The process repeats itself for what reason?
Am I to transcend this meaningless perception?
If I am fated the circle then my answer is simply no.
Only until my last drawn breath can I rest in time.
Through involuntary action it animates from within.
Returning to the womb the soul again becomes restless.
If I am fated to the perceived circle then my answer is simply no.
Copyright © Nathanyal Rivers | Year Posted 2011
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