#reflection #poetry #poem #creativewriting

Time is a line, not a wheel.
   We swerve left and right,
yet are, hardly, right inside,
  not left or right, balanced
  within with what truly we
   know, for sure, our best,
 becoming self has on rise
of reflective turnaround,
 rolling straight with a map.
In the mirror are sirens.
 A friend helps.  A friend
helps not.  Best of bends,
 by the maps, my friend,
mercy, is choice in two—
  hard or easy, less or more.
More for who?  A name—
 naming is not necessary.

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