Repetitive and simplistic,
We grow used to a daily routine,
Used-to-be pleasures now are dull,
Abreast time we race,
Trying to outrun his vortex pull.
Flying in circles it seems,
On the wings of daily life,
New scenery pops up here and there,
Escape from time? Only a dream.
Living in constant revolution, then ended with a scythe,
Will we ever see a 'different' day?
People rely on these clockwork wings,
To carry them through safely, not letting them go astray,
They feel safe through familiarity, repetition,
Not following pure intuition.
So off I jump, falling through time,
A gamble yes,
But at least my originality is at hand.
