A Plastic Carousel Ride

I’ve gone there before,

but where is there?

Somewhere, of course,

as I ride this plastic horse.

Round and round the carousel,

I go, to find a well of tears

that may lead me straight home.

If that is there, and I am here,

then my home must be near.

I can feel it, I know it’s close by.

It’s somewhere, anywhere,

it has to be; because I’m still alive.

Though, I’m not sure anymore.

All I’ve done is run in circles,

as the world seems to twirl and twirl,

causing a dizziness inside,

my inner emotions jumbled up

like all the stars and planets

in the milky way sky.

Where is there, if there is not here?

And here is not where I should be,

but rather where I want to be.

It’s kind of confusing, and tough to see.

Though, I still try, as I’ve always done so,

And the more I try,

the more I feel I succeed.

It is then that I realized something:

the world is a carousel ride,

and we are all riding in circles,

upon these plastic horses.

To when they will rot and decay,

or when the idea may fade away,

I’ve never been sure of it,

I can’t really say.

Though now I know,

I’ve always been there,

upon this plastic carousel ride,

somewhere out there

in the milky way sky.

Reviews

[Coyote Poetry]

I believe we decide our journey.
"To when they will rot and decay,
or when the idea may fade away,
I’ve never been sure of it,
I can’t really say. "
Maybe a carousel ride. I hope my carousel ride is with my Grandchildren. Some fun and laughter in the journey. Thank you Brian for the outstanding poetry.
Coyote