CIRCLES OF EIGHT

CIRCLES OF EIGHT
By: Darrelyn L. Tutt

Fingers fumble at the keyboard.
Eyes stare vacant at the screen.
A flux and flush of emotion for which there are no words.
The mind recovers a memory,
Salty tears touch the tongue,
And the soul feels hollowed out ...
In silent pain.
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Life and its cycles,
Its unending circuitous pattern.
Figure-eights performed on sight but not within.
Repetitive silent motions,
Mechanically moving,
 Creating illusions ...
Again and again.
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I must stop and catch my breath ...
These circles of eight.
I close my eyes,
And bite the blade,
In icy strait.
I feel the number seven ...
In my skate.
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