Rerun

Rerun

On the flickering screen the same scene sighs,
A familiar chorus in muted tones—
Lines we once laughed at, now stale as old pies,
Repeating the jokes that we’ve already known.

The couch holds its imprint, a cushion of habit,
Where time loops back like a well‑worn refrain;
Each laugh track a echo, each plot a static
Comfort in knowing how joy will remain.

Yet beyond the glass, the world shifts its gear,
Seasons turn, streets rewrite their own tale;
The rerun offers a safe, steady sphere—
A pause button pressed when life feels too frail.

So let the old episodes roll and unwind,
While we chase new chapters behind the closed blind.