The ledger of the mind is strange,
A book where memories rearrange.
We swear we’ve learned the bitter cost,
And vow the foolish ways are lost.
“Never again!” we cry in dread,
As visions of the crash loom ahead.
We map the pitfalls, mark the snare,
And promise we will exercise care.
But time is a sponge with a thirsty soul,
And two short years take a heavy toll.
The sting of the failure begins to fade,
And we forget why the warning was made.
The scar becomes a ghostly line,
The red-flag warnings seem benign.
The logic that saved us is swept from the floor,
And we find ourselves knocking on the same locked door.
“This time it’s different,” the ego will spin,
“The stars have aligned, so I’m certain to win!”
We ignore the debris of the last great mistake,
And dive headlong back in the same freezing lake.
With a confident grin and a spirit so bold,
We repeat every error we were previously told.
We dance to the rhythm of a well-known disaster,
Running toward ruin, only faster and faster.
So here is the cycle, the rhythmic routine:
A crisis, a lesson, a memory clean.
Then two years of drifting, a blink and a blur,
And we’re right back to where the first blunders occur.
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