The Never-Ending Circle.. Poem by Ella Donaldson

Left. Right. Around Again.

This is a never ending circle

A square shaped box.

Maybe?

Patterns change, Seasons change
Blue and Gold
Blistering Black.

Its dark here
Around. another. circle.

waits

Twigs shatter at the dismay of a screaming soul dying of pure agony
The whispering Wind howls in response.

This is a never ending circle.
A circle with splotches of unwirling storms

An idea.

An embrace.

An epilogue.


Strings swirl in tiny harsh beads.
Yellow. Orange. Red.

Fire engages with water.
Trying to hold a sense of belonging.
It slowly diminishes. Losing Hope.
Facing the Reality that it can't find vengence, mercy or justice.
It just has to

BE.


No where to go but here.

Smeared ash appears on raptured rocks.

Fate? No. Choice? Maybe.


The menacing feeling inside captures me, throwing me into a never-ending camotise.
Peircing screams. Dark dangerous shadows.
Touching heisitately with swandaring spine-like fingers.


The monster in me is inviting me in.

'A circle within a circle it suggests.'


Images swarm around. Black blood of a
pure lamb staggers through my
lucid mind.


Shock waves run through me.


A sudden silence stuns me.


The circle i'm running in finally stops. Gasping.

'SAVE ME! ! ! ' 'HEEEEELP! ! '


JOLTING. WAKING.




The whispering wind wallows as the pitless screams turn into cries of hollowness.
Fire engages the wind as they find comfort in each other.
Feeding of each others sorrows.
A sense of belonging together.
Creating heat among the earth.

Yellow. Blue. Green. White.

A baby cries of joy for he does not know of what man has become.
He foresees a light swirling in the never-ending circle.
seeing the tiny spectrums of light in the mans souls.
hearing of hope as the church bells ring softly.
The wings of a butterfly flutter quietly.

The war has started. To find peace we must fight the camodemon inside us.

The earth will move with the roaring of steel.

Soon we will be lifted into the serene infinty.

Square shaped boxes that hold the marching soilders will dilvulge into flames of yearning mercy.

The time starts

NOW.