Archive 03/30/09 - (2)

   

Revolving Door

                              

 

Stuck in life's revolving door,

How will I extricate myself from its dizzying malaise,

When the only exits there are don't exist —

 

Not anymore, anyway, if ever they did?

There was a time, in my inspired younger days,

When, despite mistakes, duplications of misguided passions,

 

I could receive absolution, at least gain reprieve,

By expiating my naive gaucheries, flagrant faux pas,

Promising to reform my prodigal, dissipated ways.

 

But those repetitious crimes and mea culpas grew old fast.

Before I could ever master the art of subterfuge,

I found myself trapped in a cage with an electrified grid,

 

Relegated to running, endlessly,

In a revolving door doubling as an exercise wheel,

Leading from the inner mind behind my eyes

 

To the outside world,

Where my demons might hide in its woodwork,

If only I could figure out a safe way to get off the wheel.

 

But how could I have ever guessed, then,

That the revolving door led nowhere

And that I was just a gratuitous rat running its ass off,

 

For no good reason, other than to progress habit,

Wear out my dirty, furry, verminous body,

Spinning that wheel mindlessly.

 

I'll never learn that the reason I spend my life revolving

Has been foreordained by the universe's inherent order —

Circles ceaselessly circling.

 

 

 

 

 

 

          

                                

 

03/30/09 - (2)

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 
 
 
 
 
       

 

 
   
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