The Circle

There was a day I walked alone and shed the ballast waste
And from the air there amassed a solemn, darkened taste
Of weaker days and cradled months and for long did they stay
Until at last they gripped and slipped a rope with ending fray

From there I walked in unison with sinner, politic, and saint
I scathed the witching stone and scraped from slate to slate
And when I came upon a clear I surmised a brightened path
But yet my feet would not turn, they would not beat the path

And so again, I walked alone and yet a different fear I tried
Walking in the shade and leaning side to side
Look! The circle widens greatly, but a light and bright still breathe
And the endlessness of this self walk has lead me to believe

There must exist an endless prairie of green, peace, and solitude
Where one can unload their greatest burden to serve the multitude
For the sinner, politic, and saint that wander near it's face
All of them long to end the circle, to find purpose and their place