LAMENTATIONS

by David Eide

For one full season the poet delays the abstractions of himself. Tracks of endless thoughts leave him. A great world once dreamed in the chambers of youth , is emptied into the soft and warm summer air.

World that will perish to my eyes. The vast enterprise of abstraction stutters though the city he inhabits. The poet he says , “ Only needs a few objects each generation.

A man tells him that perhaps he will be privileged to look back someday and see the shadow of your growth and development. The poet cannot foresee such a time. If someone from the future were to arrive and try to convince him that his growth contains the seeds of his destruction and that he will have to learn the painful laws of transformation he would laugh the ghost away. I see the shadow in everything that flies around me, the poet would say. “ My words keep the shadow from me.”

There is a beautiful space that allows the poet the freedom to indulge the love of mysterious worlds and their implications.

Sitting in his chair on the deck of his friends house , looking over the passing traffic , the poet thinks out loud. ‘Don’t they understand that knowledge structures the mind toward freedom so it can be free to do wonderful things?’ Knowledge does not exist so that the mind will get bogged down in the categories of anxiety. Are they superstitious of that which would free them?