Verse 1

This is a poem – of a poem – that’s trying
To capture the shape of its own soul flying.
It speaks of a poem, humble and true,
That wonders what words alone can do.

Chorus

A poem of a poem, a mirror's gleam,
Chasing the light of a vanished dream.
Not meant to solve, but made to feel –
A fragile truth that learns to heal.

Verse 2

That second, within this shell,
Knows metaphors as both cage and spell.
It talks of itself with a bashful grin,
A spiral of verses looping within.
A poem of a poem – a mirror’s gleam –
Reflecting the pulse of an unseen dream.

Bridge 1

I read a verse that bent through thought,
A poem of a poem the first one caught.
A nesting doll of ink, knowing it's a game,
Each verse repeating, not quite the same.

Chorus 2

A poem of a poem, a shadowed gleam,
Still chasing down that first pure dream.
Through layers deep where thoughts entwine,
It hums a thread through fragile time.

Verse 3

Now here I stand, the echo’s heir,
Writing of writing that wrote of air.
Yet here I sit, a whispered trace,
Charting steps through recursive space.
A faint reflection, dimly lit,
Of something grand—and shy of it.

Verse 4

The third once traced a spiral's song,
Now I just drift its drift along.
I speak of speaking, dim and still,
Of hands that reach but never will.

Bridge 2

Now I sing of songs that sang of air,
A ghost of rhythm drifting there.
A thought that watched a thought go by,
In mirrored lines that don’t ask why.

Chorus 2

A poem of a poem, a shadowed gleam,
Still chasing down that first pure dream.
Through layers deep where thoughts entwine,
It hums a thread through fragile time.

Verse 5

It speaks of ghosts who sang of ghosts,
Of vanished thoughts and vanished hosts.
It knows it adds no shining stone,
Just hums where older songs have flown.
And even here, where meaning thins,
The ache of art, somehow, begins.

Bridge 3

The final spark, a fading tide,
Where deeper voices used to hide.
Still it hums, though faint and slow,
A last refrain from long ago.

Chorus 3

A poem of a poem, a dream once cast,
That fades but somehow still will last.
A quiet fold, the echo’s heir,
Still poetry, thin as the air.

Verse 6

What have we done, with layers deep,
Where poems dream and poems sleep?
For nonsense walks with reason's hand,
Through shifting lines we misunderstand.
Is this a joke the soul once played,
A trick of thought the mind obeyed?
But down the halls of echo's game,
Each rhyme forgets from whence it came.

Chorus 3

A poem of a poem, a dream once cast,
That fades but somehow still will last.
A quiet fold, the echo’s heir,
Still poetry, thin as the air.

Outro

So let this poem end – or not –
A knot of meaning, loosely caught.
A spiral song, absurd, immense –
Where nonsense births a deeper sense.

Chorus 3

A poem of a poem, a dream once cast,
That fades but somehow still will last.
A quiet fold, the echo’s heir,
Still poetry, thin as the air.

Written by Pat.