I Am A Cog

A poem about the turning.

I feel like the hands of a watch
circling the cycle of contempt and joy
propelled by unseen gears beneath
and moved by an unknown touch.

Sometimes I love this place
Sometimes I hate it.
When will I steady my heart?
When will you take it?

---

These three pictures are from this time of year (April) in years long gone.
Time is a killer. A thief and a giver. A gut punch and an embrace.

This is the last one in my planned short poems.
I think it’s fitting to end with this one.

There will be a turning of time and something else will be next.

We’ll see each other again soon.