Doesn’t it?

There is no eternity,

as life has its limits.

Beyond can be fictional

or worse artificial.

There’s no guarantee

that tomorrow won’t be my last

or that I even get there.

The past left its bitter fingerprints

and behind elegant prints

is hiding a childish scrawl.

my memory nor cup nor a bowl

of watery images

floating around and haunting

my heart.

It’s not news nor it’s new

mortality can offer only so much.

Thus, running circles

mulling over same problems

from multiple angles

and getting the same conclusions

that ancient Greece wrote treatises on

and still it goes on, and on, and on.

It’s boring, that’s what it is,

yet it’s not remiss nor goes out of style

says a lot about the flock, doesn’t it?

 

 

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