A Minor Inconvenience

No one wants to think about 
The broad swath of the Reaper’s scythe, 
The sure inevitability that 
This is but a mortal shell,

Our time allotted a mere instant 
In the span of Mother Earth, 
Hardly time to blink an eye, 
A story far too hard to tell.

There are those who pause and ponder 
What and why and where and when, 
Many who would beg and plead 
A chance to do it all again.

There are those who seize the moment 
Knowing well there is no end,
Just a minor inconvenience 
Before a new life can begin.

Circles,
Cycles, 
Wheels that turn, 
A twisting pinwheel in the wind,
There are always new beginnings 
If you know where to begin.

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