Propellent syndromes rotating with energetic drum
the winds of time begin to churn your soul begins to hum;  
Through the portal of time you go regressing, progressing
forever moving forwards, you are a tiny little string;  
Dangling at the edge of time, waiting for the big rebirth
with the sun, moon and stars hung around your girth,  
you slowly decline at the doorway of heaven's nook
and enter mothers womb as she delivers you with shook;
Ferris wheel cries cracking the silence of dusks headdress
the dawn is a blush of bruises but the eyes, oh!  the eyes
they are two luminous stars of love, here is no surprise
the old soul has done it again, thundering back in, mortal
as you once were.  Immune to taste, sight, and smell,  
a propelling syndrome rotating with energetic drum,  
the winds of time has brought you back, now hum.

June 7, 2021