LAMENTATIONS

by David Eide

The poets nightmare shows his words dying in the vaults of modern babble that drowns out eternity . Eternity! They who no longer believe in eternity rule the world and grind the poets power through the festival of the grotesque beast.

The poet, a mean man, says, “ Let them all vanish into the hell they create for themselves- this humanity no longer interests me.

His discovery that the muse and humanity are one sinks into sadness and he realizes that, in a profound, unalterable sense, he is beaten, AHD, he will understand the depths at which the beating takes place and covert all negatives into positives, all positives not negatives.

He is as restless as the invisible forces science casually sketches out. He wants to find the order in heath, the perfect symmetry that brings his energy in from the cold.

Simultaneous with his thoughts on subjects . Language! Language turns to bear down on the light in thoughts that shape the feeling of the subject. A paradise created from the hum-drum of the daily round. The circumference of language shrivels to a few elements and drives people violent and mad. Do not feel like an idiot for taking on such a question poet,! Waves and streams of the people’s pursuits arise from the cold to remind the poet that he lives in this era and mot the previous one. What element changes and what element is a constant?

Is there not something sad about the highest integrity and talent reduced and made to submit to the values of the ignorant the repressed , the superstitious.?

Knowledge that transcends mutated wounds!

It is a chant-prayer for the poet with occulting intensity . He has climbed the staff that leads to the upper atmosphere and has viewed the earth as a stupendous invention of perception suspended in a state of nothingness, attempting to decide its fate for the next billion years.

Days that conspire to close down the mind and destroy every hope possible it leaps up off the dead floor of the pitiless heart.

The door to the variegated world is a thin one and divides the world from a mundane but destructive one that insists every thing good and noble die.

Ah, species that only lately has learned how to leap from fiery trees.? How many times must you experience the collision of objects ? The cry of a baby is amplified from the mothers womb . They are fearful of loosing their titillation’s, afraid of mystery, and make crude strategies for survival.

They vanish into objects and are never seen again. Representatives of them wonder harmlessly through the city street at night. Mothers wail now. The people clamor that they don’t want the shame that is about to be dropped on them.

Life is well until it discovers the possibility of its own instrumentality . Then it separates and begins to war. The poet watch it unfold and converses with the available gods. The gods too , are aware of the putrid strife . The poet sees that the gods have been beaten from their lair by the inhuman noise of the species. The gods want the species to leave the stage. They question to themselves what strange virus has entered their heads..

Gold that spills from the free treasure trivia of the heart of heaven! Wonders that are encoded in moving things ! Revolving sky open for the mind that looks.

But what? They do not know anything but their toddy beauty? Time will roll them to ////////// of dust, and the laughter of the poet will be eternal.