This roiling mind, chasing, plotting
A spoiled child, wanting, needing
Finally, understood, clearly seeing
Watched in amusement, spinning
Thinking, rambling, twirling
Never leaving, and never arriving
But a ghost, forever pushing
Broken fingers vainly grasping
This broken toy, finally outgrowing
Gently, lovingly put aside knowing
So much time wasted playing
Foolish games, and no one winning
Stoic Poetry
Through The Cracked Window (Revisited) 