The Wheel

Tick Tock, the clock never stops.

Photo by Pavel Danilyuk

I curse the wheel for its very existence,

I gaze at the wheel in awe.

Not sure if I fit here; I seem out of place,

don’t have any answers at all.

I am small, inconsequential; why ask me why,

the wheel will turn without me.

I can stay in my room or stare at the stars,

it all seems the same, you see.

If it is as you say, please show me the way,

but don’t say it over and over.

You say the same things, like a broken record,

I just want to run for cover.

Oh, sweet child…

The wheel you speak of is cruel indeed,

it stops for no one, you see.

It stops for no one, stops not at all,

not friend or foe, indeed.

The wheel I speak of is smaller in size; it consists of our family and friends.

Its parts are visible for us to steer; you can easily see to its ends.

Your place in this wheel is easy to see; you were raised by your mother and me.

You reside at the hub; whether known now or not,

our wheel can’t revolve without thee.

Cast dark clouds aside, let thunder subside,

it gets clearer and clearer — you’ll see :)