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