Will our sadness ever end?

I was born sad.

I am sad for the world, its chronic loss,

tedious history, endless shame.

I'm sorry for my part in this,

the insurmountable ocean of life,

teeming with wiggling and rhythmic pulse

and crashing and bashing stone to sand.

Everything is a record of itself.

Then erased, forgotten.

Our old age, dementia, all memories lost,

is the permanent condition of the universe.

Life repeats itself, like history, trying earnestly

to get it right, corrected finally,

but the same, the same, the same.

We see change, but it is just a cycle,

a wheel, eternal waves on an eternal shore.

                       John S. Medeiros, March 2019

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