The Same Old Tune

I stand by this door and hold
Scraps of paper in my hand
Telling of the life and times
Of a single much-loved man

I hand one to each who enters
They sit down on wooden seats
Thinking of the sleeping knight whose
True kind heart no longer beats

Gone from us without a warning
Gone to travel, far too soon
We, too deaf to hear it coming
Strains of death’s familiar tune

"Every time a man is begotten and born, the clock of human life is wound up anew to repeat once more its same old tune that has already been played innumerable times, movement by movement and measure by measure, with insignificant variations." - Schopenhauer
“Every time a man is begotten and born, the clock of human life is wound up anew to repeat once more its same old tune that has already been played innumerable times, movement by movement and measure by measure, with insignificant variations.” – Schopenhauer

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One thought to “The Same Old Tune”

  1. Beautiful poem… The title caught my attention. I write something with that title in mind but in a different context. <3

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