Eternal Recurrence

I don't really know if you can call this poetry. I've certainly never considered myself a poet. I write what I write, and it is what it is. This is usually the way it goes.

The simplicity of everything

Is contradicted by

These random complications

That leave you asking why

We are here

Then we are not

And where it is

That we get lost

Somewhere behind the veil

We become ethereal

When time and space collide

These questions will no longer rise

Melodramatic activists

Perpetuating pointless fits

You pour the gas

And strike the match

Then retreat to your lightless pit

Somewhere beyond these lurid scenes

Internally, your voice will scream

And your mind's eye will slowly open

Revealing all the lives you've broken

Whisper your mantra, "It's just a dream."

But when we open the door

All that can be said

Is we have been here before

And we will be here again

Though we don't realize

When the cycle repeats

We simply open our eyes

And we begin to breathe

A tapestry woven from sorrow

Left him no interest

In tomorrow

That moment when everything slowed

What did he see?

Was he alone?

Are we alone?