Love is like a looking-glass
And Life a long, arduous voyage on an uncharted sea.
I don’t know what to tell you;
I don’t know what to say.
Listening to talk of madness in a candlelit bar/cafe.
The snow outside turns to unhappy slush
on a Sunday evening.
I want music,
but settle for words and imported beer,
watching the players before my eyes,
playing my silent bit part at a corner table —
while those onstage speak their chosen lines.
The beer goes to my head like a tight cap,
as does the nostalgia spouting from the barmaid:
distillations of books and movies
still etched on my brain
from those ever remembered nights
of hipness revelry
Greenwich Village 1960s.
Oh so serious flights of youth awakening
— Yeah . . .
it all comes back.
Nothing’s ever lost, but, like energy,
returns in different forms.
It’s a night for musings.
My true purpose? as yet disguised.
Life is like a voyage
and this epistle,
merely another page in the log.