Falling in circles. Meaningful as a child's fickle heart. You rise, echo, only to fall once more into the sea of silence and stillness. Ideas so fresh, so purely inspired, where do thou come from? Where do you go once my childish mind has tired of you? I feel you writhing, interconnecting like schools of silvery fish in the ocean of my mind. So quickly changed, yet you always make full circle. Only when I stop to look you full in the face do I appreciate your wonder. Somehow your shining orbs make up my person. You make me. I am individual because of you. You hold my memories in a sunlit gallery. Yet, a layer of dust has settled over your once regularly polished frames. I walk along the long corridors quite often, but only as a means to enter the next corner of my little abode. The people I have met linger in those halls, or at least their shadows do. The books I have poured myself into and over lay scattered across the rugs. Only recognized when one aspect of their perfect little beings is called forward to be paraded. How can you, ripples upon my mind, so fleeting, so delicate, make up my very countanence? How can cherry blossoms hold so long a life within my heart? You entrap me, you enthral me, yet I cannot keep you. I cannot call you my own for anything that I have done. How do so many of your leaves get swept away to the wind, while only a few can linger in the glass cases I now pace before? I flounder and flail reaching for you, but how does one catch the wind? Only when I rest in your wake do you turn and encompass me once more. Oh, untangeable whispers in my dull ear, oh, whims of my unheeding heart, oh, ghosts before my cloudy eyes, oh, fading embers within my failing heart, lead my stuttering feet into the starlit skies. I have risen only to fall once more, yet even at the end flecks of your silvery hide have been left on those who now sit beside me. Ripple rise, ripple fall, ripple echo your song into the night, into the ever rising, ever falling chorus.