The Poems I like

There’s no definitive charm, or spark, about the poetry I like. It’s a few lines jumbled together to mirror a feeling, decently. It’s the same doubtful feeling of doom, of wanting to express myself in ways better than I actually manage to. These are days I feel dull, like dust collected along the spine of an old classic. I wish I could express myself in speedier ways, but the only way I manage it is in retrospect. I let time pass, and then think about all that is past and wonder about every where I could’ve done better, and waste the second of the present thinking about things I can no longer change... Unless I change the present. This is how the vicious cycle continues. The wheel spins and spins, and the universe moves in these circles... as I wonder (to console myself and hope) about patterns of the universe to shift some blame from myself.