Rounds and Rounds

A minute goes past,
a revolution is made.
I observe the ticking hand
moving itself a new round.

Do all things move in rings
or cycles they call.

Like the giant spheres that circles
the great ball of flame.
Akin to dancing
around the campfire.

A choreography left down
from so long ago,
now passed on
to every corner of the globe.

The bug that circles my lamp
or any source of light.
Then i see them
falling into Icarus plight

Inbox

Browsing through my inbox
looking at messages from before,
a while back and really long ago,
Kept them to remind myself
of emotions I once felt
and never want to let go.

With erosion caused from time,
these words becomes fragments
and empty husks of history.

Going through the archives
allows me to be back to track
from knowing where I came from.

I favor writing in the night
where all around is quiet
save for clocks ticking away.

My surroundings become my sanctuary,
some ideas come to see a rest
and we have tea together.

With tea and chatter,
they hung around a little
and hurried the night away.

Once a while we go all quiet
then we know its time
to bid each other goodbye.

Its going all quiet now
and my yawning closing in,
it's time.