Circle of Time

Fast;

the circle has no beginning, no end,

my friend I tell you – there is if care

is taken to note the mark a mistaken spark

within the melted miles that go

round the sound the echoes of time

sublime – a spot that differs in composition,

a transcription of position from silver

to gold, of stories untold that unfold

around the edge of the abyss of nothing,

nothingness.

The circle touches every direction, each

inflection of the passing, from past to

present to future, casting doubt

aside inside the pathway taken

never forsaken, from then until now.

Smooth, it moves within with grooves

of satin, infinity captured

Now the circle ends, portends closure;

instead, the circle unwinds

bending the binding ties that keep it strong

unknow, a mobius strip alone for the future

to diving keeping in line with the Creator

as I, the spectator, watch it glow,

watch it grow with mystery

into antiquity and beyond.