We pace the streets, endlessly talking
to no-one in sight, right hand to ear,
gazing somewhere beyond where we're walking,
attention stretched thin between there and here.
We move between worlds. A job's not for life,
a home's a hotel, well-loved friends travel on.
All vows are conditional, to country, to wife,
the passing is in, the lasting has gone.
Each unforgiving minute's filled
with sixty seconds' to and fro.
God forbid that minds be stilled,
or souls allowed to root and grow.
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