Patterns

Patterns Patterns
They come in every direction time may head or mood may swing
They linger in the chaos of day
When you feel depleted and hopeless
And even in the tranquilized moments of peace
When you feel for once secure but deprived
Their stench tainting success

You see a grand pattern once to begin with
And once more to remember
Then, in any one moment, when the beginning of that treacherous pattern may emerge,
An assumption comes that the end will be just the same as that of the once lightly noted
reoccurrence of events, which manages to dominate one’s mind
A dove for interest to catch seemingly beautiful and innocent upon its first and second
retrieval
But poisonous to the bearer forever to come
Its poison made so that one will always infer the end through the beginning
This as though time repeats in one strict pattern
As if one’s fate is predictable and absolute

You will not see any more grand patterns after you see the primary
Just the master pattern that you had never wanted to see but at first
And, at any point of time, the master pattern will bubble into your mind
Only maybe slightly differed by a smaller dove, less attractive but once again poisonous

Obvious has it become that all the patterns I see are black and an optimist will only see
white
Mine stained with my fears of meaninglessness making known any possible evil
And there’s not willing to except that that meaninglessness is even existent
As they can no longer face such troubles
And therefore will never overcome them

So, as my hope rises what do I see?
Patterns and more patterns
Of how it has risen before only to plunge
Like an ignorant man
Happy with no burdens but later sad with no power
But I know it is not the patterns that bind me
Only what I believe them to be