Selective Amnesia

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I came across this a little while ago. Liked it enough to blog.

There’s one upright spindle/ with tendons around its girth/ orbs at tendons’ end, so little/ revolve with gaiety, pure whim, and mirth/ some lose steam and slam into the spindle/ Behold! A hundred score pieces and dirt/ The others revolve, unbridled!/ And with bliss, yet tethered/ Tempus fugit; the spindle recedes into oblivion/The orbs are all alone./Unrestrained and out of a union/ that they’d taken for granted all along/ The thrust that drove them in a circle/changed nature, and pushed them far apart/Once, they were all of a spindle/About which they now know not.
~R.S.G. Priest

I looked for R.S.G Priest, but no go. So no linkback.