following along its everlasting cycle on
that endless path; a path which calls
me as if it were meant for me, a song
sung with the sweetest tunes which fall
like rain from pregnant clouds
above, round and round it touches again
reaching for what will never come.
They walk to the melody the wheel plays
day and night, it leads them to the places
they must go; they go because they know they should,
they go for it is what is sung to them, they go never
expecting more than before: an endless world
ever focused upon what is yet to come.
The wheel turns and turns, ever turning
rarely stopping, continuing with little pause,
it does not consider or wonder; for all who follow do so
because it is what is sung to them, that sweet rain
falls upon the faces of all, calling them
along the path: all are blind to what passes beside them.
The journey forward is rarely halted or stalled,
only pushed forward with valor for they are called,
when the clouds above are emptied of their tune
the wheel is brought to an arrest: the people look about and are shocked,
what is laid out before them is vast and beautiful, a new song
to be listened to; a calm to be had and to be indulged, but all
too soon the clouds open again and the wheel begins to turn.
Some remember the new tune sung to them,
they remember the beauty it possessed and the emotion
invoked; yet as the wheel continues they
fall back beside it and listen to its song, the tune falling from
the once more pregnant clouds to the earth below, ever pushing
it forward, pushing it to forget beauties song.
-Jessie Olsen-Stice
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