Grinding the naked bones of the dead
Turning ceaselessly through the night
Continuing on beyond breaking daylight
Always in perpetual circular motion
Like the movement of waves upon the ocean
Planets rolling around the churning sun
Or the nuclear orbit of tiny electrons
The wheel inside his head keeps spinning
His mask-like face continues grinning
While the sound is like a kind of hell
The rasping crunch of that rolling wheel
It is pure machine, devoid of conscience
Rolling tirelessly over everything precious
His faith in humanity, his will to live
His ability to love, to feel, to give
He tried to stop it with drugs and booze
Lubricated it instead and ensured he'd lose
More than the wheel would take on its own
His wife, his kids, his job, his home
Now he runs in the hope he can out pace it
Rather than the horror of having to face it
For the wheel never stops and is always there
Behind his haunted eyes, under his thinning hair
© shaun patrick green 2013
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