London Poem: Day 197

2 March

As one day comes to a close
Night comes rushing in, moving
The eternal lot in rolling motions –
Ever forward, with the glances back,
Subtle and sparse.
I cannot help that I’ve continued on,
Moving from one day to another night,
Forgetting as the mind forgets,
What was, and is no more.
Though, in those occasional reminiscences,
Reliving the soundless sleep of
Ghosts, the world becomes what it was
That night, and never before.
We too sleep, in time, with luck
Forgotten, with love, but when
You are there staring back through
Mirrors too intrusive to ever be at ease,
I see what you should have been, not me.

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