Even Pain is Real

Rampant runs
the animal's ambition,
the heavens over it 
a steady blue hand.

Each wanderer,
the way they will,
intoxicated change 
paths or destiny with

with fury or love.

The relentless
glittering and shine
of pleasure, the untimely
rhythm of sorrow,

broken faith

a mysterious wheel
rolling in wide circles
repeating itself.

Still, every beast
wants a beginning,
an indescribable need
for worth.  Perhaps

a crown of white
flowers, a sharp thorn
that pierces the foot.

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