Life is a vicious circle, Twirling on the horizon, Wondering what seeps in. And the sole purpose beneath it.
Who is dealing with us— A person, or time? If you are diminished, Was it by your own hand, or by pulse and dime?
A man stands at the beach, Admiring beauty of sea and sky— Either way, skulking in his own misery, Where things went wrong. Was it time? Or amateur instincts?
Tampered, wasted, burned. People discard their scraps, All tumbling into space. Yet how does such illumination Still sparkle in one's mind? All must be done, Woven into organized twine.
Push the puller, pull the pusher when actions are contrary, Yet both exist, Paradoxical and fragile, In a single frame.
Wondering about prospects, Chilling, varied thoughts Cross each aspect, Shadowing reason with flickers of doubt.
I bulged and secluded, Rolled into a narrow space. Then came The One who stopped before me, Armored bright, With a shining face.