Patterned People
Seamstress cuts on dotted lines,
keeping straight the cut,
dealer deals another hand,
players are wondering what.
Foreman’s late again,
schedule’s in disarray,
tomorrow just another one,
workers in constant dismay.
Patterned people, too easy to perceive,
their next move, what they think,
sometimes leads me to frustration,
drives me nearly to the brink.
No one seems to listen,
room filled with too much pride,
each week I go again,
beside Him I will abide.
There is hope for us all,
the clones passing below the steeple,
we pray and give praise,
still, we’re all just patterned people.
© 2010 Randolph D. Brown, Jr.
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