So many deaths in just one life.
	So many births to open routes.
From withered growth new shoots are sprung,
	as old to young is born anew.

The cycle turns you one more turn.
	Your form is churned and formed again -
so reinvented sans refrain,
	you ride the maelstrom pulling in.

So many evolutions been.
	So many revolutions seen.
We all are swept and blown within
	the vortex that devours time...

that liberates the vital force -
	the essense of unrealized hope,
the unbound scope of fresh belief,
	that cleanses us from limits learned.	

Each day, a newborn from moist dream,
	to live to turn another page
within the chapters, too within
	great volumes stacked into great rows.

And from those, libraries of time,
	archived, so many nested tales
by which, regales the central one
	to which we spiral, frayed to none.

And twisting in, sends splits through thread -
	so many ends to start afresh,
fine branches form alternate paths,
	fine reinventions of the self.

A fractal nature to this all.
	So many deaths where pathways close,
while those once passed are followed next
	to further paint the fine detail.

A skeleton is clothed with flesh
	as we explore the subtle tones:
the mesh that stitches bolder lines,
	refines the crude structure we build.

Delight is gained exploring this
	forever branching strange milieu
that fills the mother void with form,
	networks of vessels for our flow.

So many stops from one great start.
	From one great heart so many veins,
that carry us such different ways.
	So many ends to which we run.

So many deaths in just one life.
	So many stories self-contained.
We carry in us all without,
	a strange recursive grand design.