People don't believe me necessarily when I
say it, but
Things go in a circle most of the time.
They ask for an example, and I always point:
A life-changing arson that orphans a child,
Sends him seeking revenge. 1885, N.C. 1957.
The same building blows up twice, same level,
Each time in December. 2005, 2006.
A man is haunted by the death of his lover.
He cannot let the ghost go. 1899, Parabellum '51.
Lost my eye.
1886. 1985. 2013. 2029.
So, such misery comes in a number,
A date, an event. I take it in my hands,
Kiss it sweetly, tuck it into a parchment satchel,
Tie it with twine. It's mailed off to myself,
30 years in the future, when I'm older and wiser,
Hopefully, and when I open it,
Maybe I'll still give a damn.