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.

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