The Pattern

Another temporary dream slips through my hands and shatters as it lands

Fragile as stained glass adorned with arduous detail

Unmoored, I finally exhale and mourn what I couldn't do

Another story wanders in, darkens my room and as it pleases comes and goes, and idly intrudes

Impressed with new information expressed by inner narration

I guess that will do

Always searching for the perfect words then going untold

Always out to break the pattern but never the mold

That's it, I just didn't want to

I quit, I'm sorry it fell through, but I try