Every poem has been written before
at least fifteen times.
The Neanderthals discovered caves
already painted with the story of their lives.
They invented fire
over and over again.
And you & I
whisper the same sweet nothings
we were born with.
Your words remind me of a Joni Mitchell song:
"And the seasons they go round and round
And the painted ponies go up and down
We're captive on the carousel of time
We can't return we can only look
Behind from where we came
And go round and round and round
In the circle game"....