Patterns

There's something about patterns, processes

There's something about my caution with patterns,

There's something about the way I look at things,

Something about how I've mastered the skill of just looking,

How I look and not even utter a single word.

There's something.

There's something about patterns,

From the rails on the iron roof in my house to the tiles on the floor,

From the pattern of the bricks on the sidewalks to the floor at my gym 

From the spider web at a corner in my four_walled maisonette,

From the seasons to the falling of the sun with every minute 

There's something about patterns.

 That's why the child in me will never disappear, to notice patterns,

The urge to make even steps on the bricks on the sidewalks,

The challenge  to skip a step or two, land on the following with each step

The calling voice to count the roofing rails when my eyes a dry of sleep 

The temping lust to study each thread in the beautifully wrought web 

Ooh the child in me, I miss that day, Cute being young 

Today each pattern speaks of life, experience, and how things flow 

There's something about the spider web and so with the tiles at the gym,

There's a resemblance to the pattern, it's a process, a representation of steps,

From a single thread to the complete web, from a single tile at the corner

Now to a beautiful web, a spectacular workout floor,

That's the beauty of life and beauty does not need a reason but there's a how,

So there's this life I dream about, ooh patterns again, dreams shape tomorrow 

So there's this beautiful lady, ooh patterns again, always start with Hey, 

So I turn to the railing roofs when the world is silent, where did you start,

So I gaze at the spider web and isolate a single thread, let's start 

So when the weights weigh me down, I stare at the floor at the gym, start? 

Where did you start, at the center or the corner, ooh mason 

Where did you start, the center thread or the far end, ooh spider 

Where with the roof, far end of just here.

Where should I start with her then, "Hello, I bring Sunlight,

Where, oh, where have you been all my life you beauty?

Then, maybe I'll see the beauty of our love_web as it is born 

Then maybe I'll see the patterns start to form on the sidewalks 

Then maybe I'll understand the roof and the railings and the 'perfection' 

Then maybe so with the floor at the gym, the perfectly laid square 

Then maybe with her, She'll say yes after I lay the first piece, get her to smile 

Then maybe take her out on a date, a coffee date, tell her about her smile 

Then maybe tell her how I get butterflies whenever I see the beauty patterns on her 

Then maybe ask her to be my girl, and we form a pattern from scratch.

Isn't it easy to love it when it's a complete piece, a full pattern?

Isn't the process of creation, laying a single brick, tile, or thread tiresome?

Isn't the first word, Smile, fear of denial a riskier step?

Isn't it hard to predict the beauty of the pattern, from the first thread?

Isn't it just easy to ask her for a night, to enjoy an already formed pattern?

Isn't it a blindfolded walk trying to establish patterns?

Then I ask about the fly trapped on the web, huh, that's her ex-boyfriend,

Then I ask about the irregularly shaped tile, huh, that's her past traumas,

Then I ask about the missing brick on the sidewalk, huh, insecurities 

Then I ask about the deformed rail on the roof, huh, fears, attitude, esteem 

Then I ask, is it easy to just look for a perfect floor and step on 

Then I ask isn't it just easy to look for the perfect web and admire 

Then I ask, what honor is there in all the struggle, is there a perfect web?

There's something hard about patterns, to follow each without breaking,

There's something hard about patience, to wait as each grows without tiring,

There's something unknown about the outcomes of long-pattern processes 

There's a thrill with already done patterns,

Theres love for beautifully laid web, floors, sidewalks, beautiful women 

There's something about her, not what makes her HER, but what she is now,

Aren't we dark creatures, we pluck the flowers comfortably 

There's a thrill with already done patterns,

Theres love for beautifully laid web, floors, sidewalks, beautiful women 

There's something about her, not what makes her HER, but what she is now,

Aren't we dark creatures,  we pluck the flowers comfortably
Aren't we dark creatures, we have no patience to lay down a thread, tile, brick
Aren't we dark creatures, why should we wait when you can have her now 

But then there's hope in patterns, there are truths in patterns 

You can tell when you are wanted or not, then walk away
You can tell when you are no longer loved and needed and end it
You can tell when He'll run away, become a deadbeat
You can tell when the infidelity begins, and where the craving ends
You can tell when the voices start to call you at night and seek help
You can tell when the end is here and near.

Don't ignore the patterns, be patient with them, there's honor with every single thread, tile, and brick.