A Pattern of Repetition,
A custom of recurrence,
Becomes a string of rhythms,
Engraved in our imagination.
We make the same mistake twice,
And expect the aftermath to be right.
We keep stopping,
Without actually going around.
The past enact it’s place again,
Hovering over the light of present,
Like an old huge circle,
Moving within its frontier,
Yes, we have been there before,
And will be there again.
It’s an endless cycle of repetition,
Ringing the bells of preceding events.
Do we really ponder,
To paddle this cycle of repetition,
Where our past may repeat it’s terror,
Where a question may lost its meaning,
By repeating every minute and second.
Is this bearing,