Every story has been told before,

Every life has been lived.

Every light has shone bright,

Then dim,

Then burned out.

Every bed has been slept it,

And every shirt worn.

Every cup has held water.

Or coffee.

Or rum.

Every building’s collapsed,

Or been left there to rot,

And every sidewalk’s been traveled

In the light

And the dark

And even the new things,

That have never been walked,

Never shone,

Never cracked,

Never rotted or worn

They are all copies

Of some original thing,

That thing, lost in time,

Made again

And again

So everything has,

At some time or another,

Been done before,

Made before,

Existed as a first

Every thing has been said,

Every question been asked.

There is nothing new left

To tell

Or to answer.

So when all has been done,

When all newness seeps away,

The old

Must become

Novel