Pattern Poem, by amethyste, at My poetic side

I had an obsession with the eternal.

I saw patterns of it.

On girs faces.

On boys hands.

On the garbage bin.

On the wheels of the bus.

Look at that man’s face in it.

And it was the only time,

I felt like we are lucky,

we do not understand the eternal.

Well, nobody can lock it.

So I had this source that pumped me up.

Every damn morning.

And it had no owner.

Nobody could lock it away from me.

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