SUNDAY POEMS

The comfort of the familiar is no excuse

NOTHING NEW

You know the cliché.
The sun does, too.
It’s the repetition of history,
the everything old chestnut.

Evolution seems a sham when
confronted by this simple fact:
we run from the past not to escape
it, but to avoid having to learn from it.
How is that adapting to change?

Change is a given of being alive:
someone surely told you that 
when you were lamenting a loss.
Now, as it returns to haunt you,
your only comfort is a bromide
you’ve heard one too many times.

What does it take to turn a corner,
to cast off the tethers of habit and
circumstance and saunter across  
an open field? Who would choose
a barred door to an open window?

The sun lingers, reluctant to call
it a day. The sky behind the barn
is a watercolor wash. It’s nothing
new, but sometimes it’s enough.

©2025 Skip Berry