Cycle Of Living In The Circle

By Rashad Booker

A breath, a spark a whisper born,

From silent night to crimson morn.

The heart learns rhythm, eyes find light,

Dreams unfold in tender flight.

Seasons turn, the colors fade,

Footprints soften where hopes were laid.

What once began in hush and bloom

Returns again to nature’s Womb.

No end, no start just flowing thread,

Life’s gentle dance of quick and dead.

Each ending hums a new born song

Where we were, we still belong.

By Rashad Booker