The Carrousel

I love watching a carrousel, like a giant children’s top spinning loveliness around in a blur of colors, a colossal pirouette of prancing ponies, faster, faster, in the joyful music. Oom-pah-pah Oom-pah-pah Up and down the ponies canter, their tireless stampede a flurry of wooden strides as though each stallion is vying for the lead as they caper to the cadence of cymbals in the hurdy-gurdy’s melody: Oom-pah-pah - clang! Oom-pah-pah - clang! It suddenly occurs to me, you and I have become so much like the carrousel I love but our spinning is out of control and all out of synch with less ups, more downs, Oom-pah-pah - clang! Oom-pah-pah - clang! round and round going nowhere, and unlike the bold wooden steeds whirring by in a brilliant blur, I no longer see the blur of where you begin and where I end. Oom-pah-pah - clang! Oom-pah-pah - clang! Where we’ve been is colored only by your lying deception and the cymbals are merely a metaphor for hurt. Where we’re going is no longer a question mark and I’ll never look at a carrousel in the same way again. Clang - clang - clang Stop. I want to get off...