Endless droppings,
the bleedings of broken hearts
swirling down
onto parchment
for posterity.
Yet in reading,
we see similar things,
patterns of ansgt,
unwavering,
unchanging,
seemingly
forever.
And constantly
we're told,
"That's the way it is."
And we believe them,
picking up, carrying on,
it's the "Same 'ole, same 'ole."
And we remain,
still alone,
always wondering
why
we never learn,
why we
yearn for something better,
something that
may not ever be.
