Turning wheels

Like the wheels of a perpetual machine,
I constantly move.
Like the energy of the universe,
I am constant, yet continuously
changing in form,
mind over matter,
clarity over clutter,
silence over the chatter.

Incensed and Insensitive,
like a snowball rolling,
into my scarring wounds
of memories floating,
my meditation suspended.

I open my eyes,
and I see it melt
by the burning embers
of a care heartfelt.

The monk arises,
dusting off the droplets,
from the naked mind.
Moving on into the nether regions,
of a philosopher's rant
and life's jaunt.

Truth ..

I want to help, I know I can.
She needs help, I know she does.
Just not mine!

Cliche'

Ok! Exercise time.
Tell me one cliche thats untrue :)