The Circle - Foreman

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Status: Finished  |  Genre: Poetry  |  House: Booksie Classic

Submitted: April 23, 2013

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Submitted: April 23, 2013




The Circle

Our lives can stagnate.
If it doesn’t change it becomes
A festering, putrid little swamp
With brown, bubbling troubles
Compacting by the pond side,
Welcoming bacteria with a beckoning wave.

The swallows don’t know how lucky they are.
They can leave for 6 months in the year
And come back whenever they choose.
If they don’t wish to return
To that same nest then fine, fuck it.
Go somewhere else. Somewhere new.

The mayflies don’t know how lucky they are.
With each stage of life they wake anew,
With a new face, new name and new lease.
They emerge in their final, glorious form
For a day. Then they’re gone.
Off they go to explore the unexplored.

The zookeepers don’t know how cruel they are.
Caging the animals in that same cell
With the same food and same companions.
Prison is a punishment for a reason.
It’s shit. With each wall the same as it was
The day before. So slow.

Embrace the different whenever offered.
For in all the planets in all the systems
In all the galaxies and potential universes,
When something changes it is almost certainly
Not the same as it was before.

© Copyright 2019 Will Foreman. All rights reserved.

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