Patterns they form,
Like whispers and streams,
We find ourselves back in places unseen,
Hiding ourselves away, not looking like we once did,
For the past has old secrets we can no longer see,
It fades, takes new shapes, new forms, new angles,
Did you slow down this time to notice the dance and its tangles?
The slow drumming of looking, listening, learning, creating
Then that window closes again, we forget,
The amnesia hits, the memories fade,
Not long later, rediscover, another moment of… eureka,
Not like it was there inside us the whole time,
We move with the waves, in cycles and motions,
Either lying dormant, growing, fading, or rebirthing,
So many phases, each with their own form,
Like those whispers passed down through generations,
Beyond words or explanations,
Just waiting in the shadows, to be re-discovered,
It’s never-ending they say, the newness, the oldness, the death, the rebirth,
It’s the old force with it’s strong will to always continue always moving forward,
Time doesn’t get the opportunity to fear change,
It has no choice but to shapeshift into it’s next form,
Reusing it’s oldness to recreate the new,
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