And we are all a sum of circles…

spinning, spiralling,

circling something,
orbiting our own atmosphere,
seduced by our own stratosphere, (oh, how we smell)
chasing our own tails;
can circles have tails or is it just dogs?

Although Plato portrayed us
as circles split apart;
restlessly looking for the rest of ourselves,

worrying the best half
is the other half that was snipped away.

So are we circles
or just the unfinished sum of a circle?
Are we accounting or just counting our own charisma?
Fragmented fractures
trying to add positives with only negatives,

semi circles circling the greater circle of life,
some all seeing, some all knowing,
some too wrapped in the self to see the shadow

and oh how the shadows can settle over the oh so indulgent.

And she calls
and she cries
and she sees

nothing and no one as needy
as she caresses her own concerns

and she combs
long shining strands
of sustained soliloquies
over the silence, shivering.

And he sleeps
and he cries
and he needs

all and everyone to see how suffering
stifles his strength to see beyond the self

and he breaths
his burdens over brothers
he believes are blind
to his behaviour.

Oh the poor ones,
oh the pity,

pretty girl,
pity boy,

how they want you to see them,
to see how hard it is
to be them.

Make way for the music;

see the swines strumming the sinew
as the crows cut through callous cords
and the vultures make violent overtures on the violins

and cut to crashing crescendo!

 

If only fortune
could free them
from the self satisfying shackles
they slip over themselves.
Shackles too shiny
to ever enslave.

And she calls
and he cries
and they see themselves

as singularly central to the circle

and not just a number in a sum of an incomplete equation.

 

All words and wall hanging by Damien B. Donnelly

Audio version available on Soundcloud: