The Minute Measure

The sun dipped into a puddle

The moon burst out of the hill,

His watch had stopped at the junction

And he had sighed at the mill,

The sky was cast in a sullen glow

Like the gleam of steel on the road below

Though neither one did the other know,

Nor ever will.

 

A mile is a map of fortune,

A yard is a day well spent,

An inch is the minute measure

At the mean of the balance bent.

The silent figure that caught his gleam

Had waited long by the road, unseen

For life is merely a measured dream

Of discontent.

 

Four thousand beats to the hour

One hundred beats to the mile,

His heart had stopped at the junction

But staggered back at the stile.

The eyes, dim-sighted at life that fled

The mouth agape and the mind that bled,

The sigh that shuddered from one near dead -

Unreconciled.

 

The car slid over the highway

And slipped away at the verge,

The sun had dipped in a puddle

And slithered away from the world.

The cars rushed by in their surly need

To lose perspective by gaining speed,

Designed to follow, allowed to lead

Some other urge.

 

Apart is a state of being,

Alone is a man become,

An inch is the minute measure

Of all that a man has done.

He slipped and slid from car to earth-,

(Man has no value, for all he’s worth),

And that’s the promise we’re made at birth

To be undone.

 

He died on his knees, in wonder

Alone in the traffic’s chill,

The road led onto the balance

The moon burst out of the hill,

A mile is a map of fortune

A yard is a day well spent,

An inch is the minute measure

At the mean of the balance bent.

 

David Lewis Paget

Reviews

[roarke]

I'm runnin' out of superlatives.... anything I might say at this juncture would be pure redundancy. I run to catch up to the scope of this piece. I don't think idea and imagery could be coupled much more perfect than this.
BRAVO