Sonettone d'inverno

London is cold.
Layers of sold stone history encrust the horizon and uneasily doze between reinvention and conservation.
Likewise my jet-lagged mind journeys through fits of enlightened meditation and nauseating fatigue.
This duality echoes in emotions tied to their corresponding adversaries hobbling in every direction of my day.
For a time, I reluctantly left my wife, daughters and new-born son to pursue work,
And though our fondest attachments seem to bear the global stretch, I resist thinking of them to avoid complacency,
And though my passion burns to accomplish all, I mope in a luke-warm bath of hot concentration and cool distraction,
And though my vibrance enlivens the cast at opera rehearsals, my joints creak and my eyes list in boredom,
My meager body wants to expand but I resist a larger waste size,
I want to read, but there's a movie on ITV2,
I want to eat dinner, but these Peek Freans are so tasty,
I want more time, but my time's up,
To run or walk?
Eat or starve?
Stand or sit?
Spend or save?
Live or die?
Whether I rise to be super human or go back to bed, spring will come and so will the sun.