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The Wheel

Wheel turns inexorably onward.
Where does it lead?
Nowhere.
Turning, it turns within another…larger.
Others attach and spin faster and faster.
Yet, going nowhere.
Only round and round and round she goes!
Where she stops, nobody knows!

Hands on a face.
Covering tears.
Hiding zits.
Put away shame.
Yet, the wheel turns inexorably onward.

Why do they call them hands?
They look more like spears.
Weapons in the hands of the wheels.
But, the wheels have no hands.

Grow; Age; Rot…
What if the turning stopped?
Would that keep the rot away?
Would the rot rot?

Wheels in the sky keep turning.
When to sow; when to reap.
When to fertilize the seed.

The wheel begins another turn.

Published inJust for FunMusingsPoetry

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