The familiar is seldom, Appreciated.
Until time passes.
With wishes for it,
Repeated heard as reminisced.
Unsatisfied and bored,
With a reliable taste.
To impatiently crave,
It's replacement.
Forgotten are the benefits.
And what was enjoyed.
Decreased is the appreciation.
To increase what it isn't.
And what it is not,
Begins to annoy.
Enter impulsive indulgences.
Temporarily abating,
With something fresh...
And impressive.
Looking sweet on the surface.
But sours when digested.
It isn't what it appears.
Urges to return to the reliable
Is too late to chase.
It has gone away.
To appreciate more its value.
Or lavish upon it,
A wish to have given...
Praise instead of critique.
Missed,
Is always that which is...
Taken for granted.
And compared to something,
Untested.
Yet accepted until the taste,
Leaves its bitterness...
To hate,
Those impulsive choices made.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem