Inside my head
The wheels are turning.
Not madly, not furiously,
Like the wheel of chance,
Creating misery, or joy.
No, my wheels turn more slowly
Like a Ferris wheel,
The London eye,
Moving, then pausing
To let me feed off the vista.
I see the silver ribbon
Of the river.
Pleasure boats and warships,
Side by side
Resting, on the self-same tide.
The pleasure is a fleeting thing.
White sails struck,
Now cannons roar
Preparing for impending war.
The wheel moves again,
I view the Palace of Westminster.
It's hallowed halls
Where laws are drawn,
And many lies are told.
I see your smile
And drink it in.
Believing it will slake my thirst
To leave me sated
For a while.
The smile lasts only
Until you draw,
The wheel moves again
I see the far horizon.
Should I, now turn away,
_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _
Owain Glyn's Other Poems
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Poet's Notes about The Poem
Comments about this poem (Turning by Owain Glyn )
- ما كان ذنبي, قسطاكي الحمصي
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