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A poet within a sphere,
a sphere within a wheel-
not stopping for anything,
with no breaks to their rotation,
and no limit to their zeal.

The world is the clock that never stops,
and Earth is the pendulum that never rests;
people are the hands that connect the dots,
and Life is the face that is always refreshed.

All that live are so small,
and yet they are so big;
all that feel are apples of truth
of the great poet tree,
and in time fall to ground
as if they were a twig.

The reason for everything is there to be seen-
always, everyday, all-around, every second;
its simple, and yet amazing;
it sometimes becomes clearer to see when we are threatened,
and it is more inspiring and forthright than anyone ever reckoned.

We can sometimes feel cold, and alone,
when we are on our own-
and no matter how enlightened we are to the facets of life,
we can sometimes forget
that the wheel of life is run by a river,
and sometimes we all go under, and we all get a little wet.

The great thing about life
is that it is connected at both ends-
once forged, birth and death are the same thing-
everything depends on how you see it,
and what you comprehend.

Everything is imaginary, everything is allegory;
everything is true, everything is real;
everything rides on the rim,
connected by the spokes of the Big Wheel.

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