When We Begin to End
The carousel never stops turning, horses gleaming under chipped paint and twilight, brass poles spinning like memories in orbit, each face upon the rider both older and the same. We chase our shadows around and around, reaching for a ring that dissolves in our grasp. We are passengers of our own reflection, bound by motion, freed by time’ s disguise. Lovers rise and fall beside strangers; the stars spin, indifferent, above the glass. All beauty here is repetition, and even joy obeys the wheel. So hold the pole like a promise unspoken, let your heartbeat mark the tune. The lights may fade, but their warmth still lingers, even after the passing of the moon. And when the world begins to falter, when motion whispers- it must end, you find yourself within the echoes, the beginning folded into the bend. Time stands only for the willing. If the world can stop for a heartbeat, when will you start the carousel?
Phoebe Tsang
25