Blogging Poetry

This Carousel

Lo, this Carousel...

Lo, this Carousel…

Whipping ’round this Hell.

Rotten steeds impaled,

Ancient mirth dispelled.

Lo, World Top spinning,

Grasp! Rictus grinning.

Hold tight, Hope thinning,

Self: “I am Winning.”

We. Always forward.

Move. Never toward,

that trusted canard,

Reach and reach. Reach Hard.

I, at least, can see

Dreams, hand-spun and free.

This Carousel’s spree,

Absent, I, not me.

© All rights reserved, 2017.

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