You snored in your dream of indifference
of taking for granted.
Thinking you own and not wanting to know.
You enjoyed running around in circles
but there are circles no more.
And the un-intoxicating wine
mixed with my bitterness to produce weariness.
We’ve been to this place before, me and myself.
What am I supposed to prove?
That an old horse rarely learns new tricks.
The difference is, this time I don’t care.
If my tricks don’t ring your bell,
go knock on some other door.
the first sign
illusion is gone.
By tuttysan © 2008
Not a circle – a poem. Photo: Yellowstone National Park, WY.