The Circle Poem by Henrietta Pearce
The Circle
My hands burn from the beating
And still they strike
This is the happiest pain I know.
I will cheer your harshest villain
And mourn each of your last breaths
And I will remember us for you.
For you are a spark of light:
You do not assume greatness
But now that it is dark,
The people are noticing.
You descend
They rise
POET'S NOTES ABOUT THE POEM
Bits of this have been in my head for ages, and it finally looks vaguely poem-shaped. I'm immensely proud of the person this is about and their achievements, but I'm also suffering from a severe case of anticipatory nostalgia, because the proverbial parting of the ways is looming near. I'll always remember us, though.
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4/25/2024 5:26:25 AM # 1.0.0.1119
