My eyes trapped in time
         but not my heart
which can rove to and fro        
         back and forth
catch my second breath
         and as the evening
closes in so the mind is released 
          from its shackles
and lives for a moment

How many days
         add up to a life
and what is there to tell
         in the telling ?
I have sat
         by so many windows
entered and left
         by so many doors
shed so much in the process
         been ruled by a restlessness
a desire to accumulate
         petty wisdoms
knowing all the while
         that we are but reflections
of momentary flames
         overrun in the end by time

To be
         better than not to be
Louis wrote — one fine day
          woven into the next
and to retain a certain texture
         a blend of novelty
and the recurrence of pleasures
         that mitigate the pain

This evening a red sunset
         bitterly cold but a promise
of better days ahead
         make what you can of it
that’s all you have : we are actual
         and nothing else

John Lyons


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