The Recurrence of the Wheel

Where is there to begin,

if not from where the last did end.

Toil not from fruit or feed

but to boil in this hell indeed

for the dogmatic will of fact and knowledge flood

but for where the river does bend

and ground at last stood

the lost horse takes the lead

and the last warriors cry unheard

but for a small child laid bare

in his mother’s death symbolic and vane

the child grows to be the warrior’s bane

and death recoils once more to snare

all this contained inside her stare

the greatest beauty man will ever know

hidden so well it has forgotten

the lair of tigers growling low

as this life turns begotten

what will next be decided

or the next to be found

is less about what fate is sacrificed

and more about love confided

a father bound

an experiment of his own design

only from a distance softly guided

as the seeming child experiences wound

around the wheel set for recurrence

the circle broken by spirals fate

as the user learns to be still and fervent

but never beyond the fact of desire does he wait

as he is lifted off the thing once more

to remember what he was before

and habit tries like old men to say

this world will never work that way

and the old prophets and poets lauded for talent

speak only of that which God bestowed

war

pestilence

disease

famine

loss

lack

death

all on the curve of the archer’s bow

alas who knew that that archer was you

as the background sounds the cattle’s low

and morning dawns for the eternal dreamer.