Ouroboros (Sundials IV)

I wasn't going to write the poem for age 40. Yet here it is. It is interesting that my phone suggested reincarnation as an auto-complete for reinvention.

this foolish art
in brutish life
here i am
writing in the sands again

what matters to none
is embraced by one
embraced by one
until there is none

like the setting sun

defiance
compliance
complacent
complaint

the fate of the faint of heart
beat from the start
feint toward the stars
then tear me apart

this rumble within
again and again
is where i begin
this we'll defend

the catharsis of tearing apart

where do i stop
where do i start
to rearrange is my reign
this junk drawer of parts

i am alone
yet i am legion
legend and lemon
this cycle of seasons

Author's Note

Life can be a string of half-starts and humiliations. The exhilaration comes from examination.