Life rolls out in a circular motion
And the ball plodding the path knows;
No volition alien to its making calms it.
No conscience begs its progress, unless; it stops where destiny need it.
In a wonderful twist of symmetry it comes to a halt,
Where we meet at a stream of dreams.
It links our consciousness to cravings,
an endless cycle of life and being,
Made easier when we finally meet; and live like there’s nothing
That stops us from breathing and living, while loving this motion of being:
Life in it’s perfect motion; its own direction of meaning.