And So Encircled This Sphere Turns

And so encircled this sphere turns

That which by its nature casts both aspects of silhouette

And crumbling in atrophy sprouts forward freshly birthed

Where cool essential nectars hiss against consuming flame

And the breath connecting all dances over dense fertile bedding

Upon which the path that winds with blindness always ahead

And the draw that tugs away from the soaring expanse

Or the blended gaps between one world and the next

Sing cacophony or symphony or gulp in draughts of silence

Swallow prisms sweet salted bitter and bland

Yet change meaning when sharpened roughened or soft

This circle returns dependent on perpetual balance

The sum and mere representation of its sphere

A shadow and its caster in harmony of a single tone

And so encircled this sphere turns

Written by W. C. McClure  This poem may be shared (and please do); just please be sure to share it in its entirety, unaltered (and including this fine print), with credit given to W. C. McClure.  Comments are welcome at Oh, and if you want to show your support, tell your friends about this short story blog – and pick up a copy of “The Statues of Azminan” by W. C. McClure.  Thanks!

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