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.
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