Once the sun was planetary, with
the earth its moon.
Once gravity followed a different rule
and the morning’s colors mattered.
Now the earth falls round the sun,
the moon around the earth,
but while our memories echo
with violets and fragrance, fragments of volition,
come with me, my friend.
Self-pity is a shoreline
one must not walk a cappella,
come with me
and we’ll face our lives with living.
The tide of days never carried us,
its melody washes over us; no sanctuary, no purity,
our shields and swords lie rusted
in the byways of the city’s neon.
Yet every moment led us here
and on will lead us evermore.
Through the night, a dj’s mellowed metal,
by the lyre, madrigals, and in
the sepia light of yesterdays we’ll
admire dewy cobwebs on the statues in a garden,
raise rattling breakfast cups
to those who’ve flown afar,
and do the crossword, two across:
We’ve always known our ending waits
cretaceous on a chalky beach,
where the slate-grey sky writes white-horse lessons
on the blackboard sea—
the final class before our graduation.
But in these mortal moments
when time is birdsong
and the weather rests beneath a branch,
when distant evanescence hides in dreams,
come with me.
Bob Dylan, I shall be released, 1967; the Portuguese expression ser da lira ‘to be of the lyre’ meaning inspired. Maybe 🙂 .