Of Time and the City

一个老人的低语,绵长的回忆,对于城市的记忆是如此诗意。
 
Between sleeping and waking,
earth does not revolve,
and slow turns the life of meagre timbre of dullest breath.
 
Between birth and dying,
some lovely moments grow,
and sorrows not known until tomorrow,
cloud the happy hours spent dreaming in the sun.
 
Between joy and consolation,
no easy path,
some flights of fancy,
some colour, glourious old Hollywood,
small comic England, black and white.
 
Between loving and hating,
the real journey starts,
let go the latter,
embrace the former,
then fall to heaven on a gentle smile.
 
Between waking and sleeping,
the earth resumes its turn,
the soft light fills the room,
the nightly demons perish from the bed,
and all humanity braves another day.
 
 
 
 
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