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Circle of Time


By Barb DukemanPublished 11 days ago 1 min read


the circle has no beginning, no end,

my friend I tell you – there is if care

is taken to note the mark a mistaken spark

within the melted miles that go

round the sound the echoes of time

sublime – a spot that differs in composition,

a transcription of position from silver

to gold, of stories untold that unfold

around the edge of the abyss of nothing,


The circle touches every direction, each

inflection of the passing, from past to

present to future, casting doubt

aside inside the pathway taken

never forsaken, from then until now.

Smooth, it moves within with grooves

of satin, infinity captured

Now the circle ends, portends closure;

instead, the circle unwinds

bending the binding ties that keep it strong

unknow, a mobius strip alone for the future

to diving keeping in line with the Creator

as I, the spectator, watch it glow,

watch it grow with mystery

into antiquity and beyond.

slam poetrysurreal poetry

About the Creator

Barb Dukeman

Ready for a new direction after 32 years of teaching high school English. I wrote my first poem about green socks in 1977; I hope I've improved since then.

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Comments (4)

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  • Barb Dukeman (Author)10 days ago

    Thank you so much.

  • Oh this was so profound! Loved your take on the challenge!

  • Dana Crandell11 days ago

    I like the refernce to time as a mobius strip rather than a simple circle. This flows very nicely, which adds to the ambiance of the piece. Well done!

  • Mr Ahsan11 days ago

    Absolutely amazing. Great way to explain thoughts. I love it.

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