There is something to be said for repetition
The slow accretion of days
Into stalagtites of steady drips of boredom or hurt
Into calcified stalagmites of joy and mirth
That will solidify over time
Into one smooth column of life

Like the ebb and flow of the sea
The pounding of the surf
As the tide creeps in
And surprises you
So that suddenly you’re in to your neck

Repetition of a movement
Be it music or dance
Until thought dissolves
And only remains
The tapestry of life

No two repetitions are the same
And those infinite variations
Like a breath always renewed
Introduce the colour and variety
That make conversation possible.
There is something to be said for repetition.