The whirlwind

The whirlwind, the whirlwind. In it's due course it carries all that lie in it's path. Dust, leaves and scrap are all wound up by the power of the whirlwind. The constituents of the whirlwind do not understand the whirl, they are caught in it's ferocity. The scraps of the whirl are controlled by the whirl. By chance they were in the whirls path, the lottery they lost. Man is caught up in this whirlwind. The lottery of birth dictates the current of the whirlwind one is to be enthralled by. Is one destined to stay in such a whirlwind forever, or may man free himself of the course the whirl takes?

Twirling around, twirling around, may I ever escape this trap? Do I want to escape my twirl? In motion I live, living I am. May I twirl as fast as I can so that I can fly. Flying I will be after I have gained my ascent. In twirling at the speed of light, one focuses on the veracity of the twirl. One cannot fly if they twirl with hints of apprehension, for no ascent is ever gained with such a weak twirl. Every man is able to twirl with speed, although not many do. Every man is a limited being, but who knows the true nature of such limits? May man reach his limits! May he beat at the door of transgression! Let us not whirl as part of the whirlwind, let us twirl in the whirlwind. Let us break free of what is holding us down.