We Move in Circles

The first day of this new year is almost at an end. I hear 30,000 kg of rubbish was collected at the party to celebrate this crossing.  This new year, itself a construct within a construct. A register of lines around a rubberised band, a box to make it a thing.  We don’t seem to like open endings.
Now, sitting in the middle of a disused fountain, observing the world, I smell the waft of unhealthy cooking. I hear children, the construct of men, playing wildly, calling for their parents, screaming. Dead ahead, an arch, a circle and beyond that, another arc and next to it, sits, of all things, a stone octopus.  Eight legs standing the test of time; a singular piece of ill-fitting construction that hasn’t had to evolve in order to survive this cruel world. I’m sure it made some sense then, as each of these arcs did when they were made, one in front of the other. We really liked circles way back when.  Now they look like disparate stonehenges mashed together, all but forgotten by the throngs that saunter by on their way to dinner. A thing isn’t beautiful because it lasts.  I think i might die here. I might live.

Poem for an ex-lover

State of grace, is how it began
Attempting to fill a barren land
Water of life, of love, and laughter
Window of light to peace ever after

Moments of joy created within
Secret places of innocent sin
Behind closed door, a child of degree
Unable to trust, not able to flee

So in this distance, we hobble along
Two children singing a happy, sad song
Those pretty pictures, all poses the same
Which side is best to win this game?

While barren land fills with thistle and weed
Old child grows stronger, filling the need
Reviving the youth, and joy of pain
Reasons to carry past violent stain

So again, and again, the pattern repeats
Ah, the pleasure of loving is hard to beat
Night before dawn, the caged bird must flee
And take errant flight from this ghostly tree

While door is closed on present matter
In debt, to hope of happy ever after
The past yet another place to remember
Will old child rule for now, for ever?