The sun never sets, neither does it rise

It's never on the move, just big in size

It fakes a day over, we call it twilight

When it brings forth darkness, hiding its light

To light up the rest, slowly it slips away

A signal to get some rest, what after a lengthy day


A new day comes, the sun is up again

With little to lose, if any, to gain

To man a new chapter, topic is pain

Highlighted with the struggle-ever in vain

He waits for a sinking sun, a pause to his grief

All he ever wishes for; a weekday that's brief


Nothing is new under the sun, not even an innovation

All that glitters is but an old renovation

We endeavor to invent yet only modify

I know it's contentious, no need to justify

It's the life we live, the past we rewind

To this we are blind; out of sight, out of mind


What therefore have I to boast if my schedule is dictated?

My pattern of yesterday is the same pattern today

How I wish the order would change, even to some degree

Then, my head would be high, a different pedigree

But I'm still the same breed of the sun's routine

No less than a recycle bin, or some broken tin.


A perfect order.


This poem is about: 
Our world
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