Though Time is Speeding
by Conrad Geller

Though time is speeding, memory is slow.
Yet in the margin of the difference
What precious self  there is resides. I know.

First glimpses, faded pictures in a show
Of a long-dead artist, provide no recompense
While time speeds on, and memory is slow.

You old friends, mute like vases in a row
In a dark museum, you can not answer; hence
The precious spirit stands alone. I know.

Hope, that ancient whore, who whispered low
Of pleasure, and more, no longer moves the sense,
For time is fast and memory is slow.

Even love, embellished by the glow
Of distant lightning, masked, makes no defense.
The soul is naked in the world. I know.

Only the will, spiteful and proud, may go
Laughing at cause and care and consequence,
Since time is speeding, memory is slow
And nothing of the self endures. I know.