What do we know

What do we know
           of ourselves
much less of others
           when words come
so easily
           but not at the speed of light
nor the speed of thought
           and feelings have no speed

Who really means love
           when they say it
and do they even know
           or is it merely an illusion
clung to
           to provide some shape
the shape of a rose
           for example
or of a diamond ring
           or of a home

In return for love
           came small change
a petty meanness
           of self-assertion
such that old bones tremble
           as blackness seeps back
into the blood
           and silence prevails

Honesty there was
           for a while
in the eye
           now stone cold
What I longed for
           was love at the speed of life
and memories
           not condemned to pass
like the breath of time
           footsteps that counted
for something more
           than idle words

John Lyons