Inside my head
The wheels are turning.
Not madly, not furiously,
Like the wheel of chance,
Creating misery, or joy.
No, my wheels move more slowly,
Much like a Ferris wheel,
The London eye.
Moving, then pausing,
To let me feed off the vista.
I see the silver ribbon
Of the river.
Pleasure boats and warships,
Side by side,
Resting on the self-same tide.
With you
Pleasure is a fleeting thing,
White sails struck,
Now cannons roar,
A signal of impending war.
The wheel moves again,
I view the palace of Westminster.
Its hallowed halls
Where laws are drawn,
And many lies are told.
I see your smile
And drink it in,
Believing it will slake my thirst,
And leave me sated,
For a while.
With you,
The smile lasts only
Until you draw,
Another law
Without consultation.
The wheel still turns.
This time,
I see the far horizon.
Should I now, turn away,
From you.......today?
_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _
Owain Glyn
