The Difference in Repetition ~ Tuesday, May 12, 2026
To beat the well-trodden path unlike Frost
over and over until we both meet
beat my feet into the ground to spring
each time over and over again, lost
amongst humanity, I fall and bleed
to heal the body, white frost must I greet
thoughtfully as if on a case to bring
humanity back from the edge of death
exactly why, I do not care, to feed
well-cared for cats as familiar as grass
each time that I walk barefoot through the park
leave me to hate poetry as I pass
lifetime after lifetime, as on a lark
tragic to look back, relax, take a breath
record the pedestrian world, a curse
observed through the karma of my past lives
deny myself the joy others enjoy
deny myself the fruits of writing verse
each time, my labor lost to dissipate
nothing gained, at what cost, the sharpest knives
portray this life and world as dull, oh boy
as if I could care more, I could care less
thoughtlessly, I seek to reciprocate
how much pain and trauma my mind perceives
unlike Bob, the trickster poet, he plays
neat little language games thus he receives
legacy intact, fortunes he forays
into comfort and sin, this life, I guess
kindness forgets the Equator runner
each lifetime, running around the whole earth
Forget loving-kindness, forget Bob Frost
remembering the ball turret gunner
objectively better, as to defeat
sycophantic autocracy, the girth
takes into account such lengths at what cost
over and over until we both meet
beat my feet into the ground to spring
each time over and over again, lost
amongst humanity, I fall and bleed
to heal the body, white frost must I greet
thoughtfully as if on a case to bring
humanity back from the edge of death
exactly why, I do not care, to feed
well-cared for cats as familiar as grass
each time that I walk barefoot through the park
leave me to hate poetry as I pass
lifetime after lifetime, as on a lark
tragic to look back, relax, take a breath
record the pedestrian world, a curse
observed through the karma of my past lives
deny myself the joy others enjoy
deny myself the fruits of writing verse
each time, my labor lost to dissipate
nothing gained, at what cost, the sharpest knives
portray this life and world as dull, oh boy
as if I could care more, I could care less
thoughtlessly, I seek to reciprocate
how much pain and trauma my mind perceives
unlike Bob, the trickster poet, he plays
neat little language games thus he receives
legacy intact, fortunes he forays
into comfort and sin, this life, I guess
kindness forgets the Equator runner
each lifetime, running around the whole earth
Forget loving-kindness, forget Bob Frost
remembering the ball turret gunner
objectively better, as to defeat
sycophantic autocracy, the girth
takes into account such lengths at what cost
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