The Wheel’s a circle
that never misgives,
round and around,
until we cease to
heave, breathe, live.
In a fluid motion
it carries us down the line,
extended arms now broken hearts,
theirs, yours, and mine.
What happens when my memories
cease to be fonder,
instead aching for something of real intent,
fingertips reach yonder,
but that will never be,
I’ve grown,
look what I’ve become,
I’m stronger,
confident,
brave,
and I won’t take shit from anyone.
Argue with me about minute circumstances,
pick into hollows that barely began,
turning tides as smooth
as gliding glass,
these circumstances are
better known to a distant man.
I’ve no time for jabs or arguments,
my life is organised,
I’m progressing forward,
gone is most of my strife,
let me live without envisioning
barely concealed barbs and vapid digs
worn as armour,
proclaimed with might.
© 2021 Lauren M. Hancock. All rights reserved.
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