Was it déjà vu or just
The endless tumble of history’s
Cycle, Sisyphus now doomed
To perpetually rinse and repeat?
Frothing, foaming questions that
Seem faded and colourless
Are thrust into the whirling mess
Till only spin remains.
So many replies, retorts, responses
That only get lost in the current
But not acceptance, agreement, antipathy
To greet the roaring waves.
Go ahead: stare into the machine.
It washes you, too.
(Author’s Note: one of my poems from NaPoWriMo went missing. Here it is. Not my best work, but I guess that wasn’t the point of creating this blog. It’s all about regular writing, more writing, trying to improve my craft.)