Journeying Through Remembering
Though nothing changes, nothing stays intact.
Some places I have loved are shrunken, spoiled,
and sights I’ve carried with me are now soiled,
polluted. I’m confronted with the fact.
But Rome’s eternal, even when it’s sacked.
It’s comforting to know that, when I’ve toiled
to keep alive a vision, and recoiled
from ruination, I can yet exact
enormous pleasure from what still remains.
The brooding phantoms which I have to face
are ghosts of my past self. As vigour wanes,
it pains me to recall each trait and trace
of what I was, in catacomb campaigns,
whose faded glory saturates the place.
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