Ends

I don’t know if I’m more of a hypocrite or a liar,
saying those things and convincing people of it, 
though I heartily mean it, repeat it, feel it.
But the feeling absconds easily as water over fire.

I don’t know what I’m thinking or why it matters.
Because I said it didn’t before and now,
but it disappears so quickly and how?
Like ghostly water vapors.

History repeats itself, 
like those different wars over the same thing,
Like the tragedies in streets, reoccurring dreams,
momentary disbelief and aftershock feelings.

What’s worse is that it’s me on the same battle ground,
the same path I’ve seen, and these nightmares that are profound,
but endearing and already memorized.
I never believe anything, and I feel everything.

All the same, all the same,
again, and again,
but this time it’s different.
This time, it’s hopeless.