LAMENTATIONS

by David Eide

Bunished coins fall from the face of evening sky. I will not progress. I will stand the still ground and understand origins. To be alone, to desire, to not desire, to be silent, to fear, to build, to know, to be alone. I will not talk nonsensical opinions about people. Incidents of shame make a poor biography. The biography of the confessor!

"Who makes me perform the acts of the scapegoat? Two whole lifetimes could be made from energy lost to useless habits. First, expectations. Then, after the devils, punishment. Youth, disgusting as it is can be a treasure trove of meaning."

And poet, escape when the people fight instead of build. Judgements ring from bags of useless passion. Local squabbles fill with passionate ignornace. The poet will not fight them. He goes to his room and reads business publications. Here he finds a few who are making things. They are making things, yes, but is their spirit embedded in the things they make? The poet is often disgusted by what they make. "What they sell they should bury instead."

Businessmen, you have transformed my bucolic dream. You have convinced the world to embrace things. Perhaps the world will travel many years before it feels the same disgust.

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