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.