Am I alike a yoyo? Stringed and thrown
by knots around my hearted centre piece
to spin a course that's set, not by my own
but from unhappy masters, bored to cease.

Contently turning mind and heart abound,
to speed the limit, then return the aim
as tho' my thoughts of change and love rebound
within complacent discs, that they reclaim.

Life seems to whirl me like a yoyo trick
complexed entwining threads that then unfurl
to only then again with just a flick
have spun me dazed, bemused within the twirl.

I'm tied to play, confined within the same
tho' end it will, is that another game?