Is my poetry getting boring, its like I keep talking about the same thing,

A dog circling his territory, this could just be,

My personality, my style, a painting,

Of my character, a self-portrait, the scenery,

Of my mind, I don’t know man, maybe,

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I'm doomed to be who I am,

Talking about roses, flower petals,

Wet, succulent, fruit,

The devil whispering, this could also be him,

A dedication, to art, its wonderful curves,

An ode, to the moon, the gentle shape,

Of the land and sea, damn man,

See what I mean, stuck, with my piece of the sky,

Will I continue to evolve, become someone different,

Or will I always, be this dirty old man,

Dreaming of the moonlight,

Doomed, to be a reflection,

Of what I’ve already written,

Poetry, completing itself,

Within me.