She moves, and moves

frequently enough,

expects life to fill a yearning,

bottomless craving, a pit.


Young face etched with uncommon sorrow,

she doesn’t yet understand the power of thoughts.

Nubile, she hasn’t calculated

life as the means by which we are blessed

with conditions and kinesis,

this dance of adversity and rapture;

maturation only as rapid as we, ourselves allow,

simply to surrender into the miracle

of a blink in eternity,

this life, as we know it –

splendor on a spinning orb.



3 thoughts on “Spin

    1. Ronnie, you do me honor to read my words aloud – thank you! I often read poetry aloud, myself – just to get a sense of what the poet intended. It’s a unique medium, that way. Aloha, dear.

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