Pride Cycle

Sometimes our world seems to whir
like a shiny coin spun on end,
like a perfectly balanced
silver globe—

a temporary illusion that quickly loses
energy through friction. Gravity
pulls us lopsided into wobbly
roll. We clatter lower,
rattle faster, spiral
full force into
sudden
stop.

Those few who listen to warnings
and recognize familiar rhythms
can’t forever turn the throng
or keep it upright.

Some will whirl free, scatter
from danger. Remnants
still gather to orbit
new eternal
rounds.

Of all their revolutions,
we cannot tell
a hundredth
part.

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