A circle is child's play,
coming from dust.
Yet from dust to dust,
comes ashes to ashes.
Spinning within a falsity,
the likes of which we've never seen.
Fear drives the animal,
a caliber of adrenaline beyond.
Worry drives the human,
to strike and rest in the end.

While,
being trapped is different.
The instigators can go wild,
but there is no leaving.
A circle is child's play,
caught up in the cliche hoopla.
Pushing past the balloons,
the lemonade, and useless party favors.
Each narrative is a void,
speckled with troubles and sorrow.
Tangled within dramatic scores,
to be settled all so pitifully.
Regardless of inevitability,
a circle is different.