It is said

It is said

In moments of enlightenment

We will choose

How many stops we make

Some will be accompanied

By danger

A spider hanging

In mid-air like a dead man

Swaying back and forth

In a restless wind

Simple tricks

Of shadow and imagination

Guide our direction

Moving to the left

Is apparently

An English affectation

Perhaps we fool ourselves

Into believing

We travel in genteel circles

I thought I knew the way

Until I realised

How many times

I had passed by

This self-same place

There is no redeeming

Without sacrifice

It is in the losing

That truth is found

To be self-evident

In every new beginning

There is always an end