Poetry Time

A poem I wrote for a competition somewhere. 'ave at it:

Dante chooses his shapes well

Circles, I retrace my footsteps;
Backwards and forwards, both meanings lost;
Just this line, never crossed.

Going around in circles, this rut I wear
In the earth below my feet.

Loops, and I am back again;
Patterns appear, unrelenting formulism adheres;
Manifestations of my fears.