Wheel.
Spinning
wheel.
Gyrations
through.
Through
the ether
fly.
Creating
along
the way.
Churning
ethereal
mist.
Fabricating
realities.
Spinning
up
substance.
Walking
on solid
ground.
Infinite
wheels
spinning.
Infinite
realities
spun.
Magical
wheels
spinning.
Whirling
through
magical
eternal mist.
What’s
the point?
Only the
gods
understand.
-
Author:
John Prophet (Pseudonym) (
Offline) - Published: September 3rd, 2021 05:49
- Category: Unclassified
- Views: 9
- Users favorite of this poem: Nafis Light
Offline)
Comments3
(great read, dear poet
your thought provoking writing, did it again
got me rambling, displaying that crazy, in me
I try to keep hidden)
gyrating wheels, imagery of the 'out of control'
spatial clusters of lightyear distanced galaxies
as tilting disk spheres, are they - too, out of control?
a mass of happenstance, awaiting
that flick of chaotic chance
to explode, Proud
and unleash a new wave of life, so we don't feel
so alone?
either by accident or purposed, I ask honestly?
at this point, who the F'k cares!
(if by design, obviously humanity is currently
too inept, to glean its meaning;
if by chaotic flux, then so be it!)
just, let's get on
with LIVING IT
(tick tock
tick tock
tick tock
that's that nock of belated realisation)
we're wasting existence
in our yearned escapism - futility of cyclical
pseudo theoretic, worthless contemplations!
Hi LBM,
thank you for reading.
“futility of cyclical
pseudo theoretic, worthless contemplations! “
Good for the soul, however!
JP
'touché', wise poet...
(forgive my reactionary rambling
you know well, what an overzealous fool
I can be, at times) lol
Those wheels will never stop, if they do so do we.
Andy
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