My heart flies
No longer running in circles
With the knowledge of the skies.
I see the exits.
On my roundabouts.
Never picking to hex it.
Hex being a verb
Of malicious intent
Always one that makes me perturbed.
But the roundabouts
Where decisions are considered,
Places where I play about.
They’re a concept in my mind
Keeps me sharp
So I never feel too far behind.
Like a palace,
But it’s a landscape
Held within my chalice.
I can get stuck there,
Digesting information,
Until I know exactly where,
The words should strike.
Brigid Faye, Reader 