The Feeling of Time and Its Invariable Companion
Où sont les neiges d’antan? ~ François Villon
Of all our spiritual possessions this
One measures deepest, far: “the pathos of
Distance,” says Nietzsche. It is that abyss
Between the past and now, and how the love
We offer is so separate from the chimes
Of echoes we receive from those we send
It to. This distance is like long-lost times
Of joy our hearts repeatedly misspend
On men and women. Anguish is the price,
Invariable, like winters sent in blasts
Across Antarctica, certainty of ice
And blizzard. Anguish comes from broken masts
Defining meanings of adventures sent
In timeless hope. This pain does not relent.