LAMENTATIONS

by David Eide

Don't you know poet, what waits for you?

Don't you know poet, that submission to the Muse brings on the scorn of the world?

Don't you know poet, the terrible struggle you will encounter to keep the simplest dream and aspiration alive?

Don't you know poet, that great love and hate will sweep up through you to carry sentimentality with it?

Don't you know poet, what has been created and destoryed and what waits to be created and destroyed?

At wits end but smiling, he leans out the window of a hotel and watches a beautiful woman drive with the top down. She has a sheath of paper next to her. She is far deeper into the world than the poet. He laughs and wishes her well. With his head luxuriating in the dusky air he sees the objects, the avenue, the buildings and sees them as the fragments of someone elses dreams. He is joyful that he recognizes himself everywhere. One foot is on the dry plains of the hungry planet, the other floating in the depths of space. He whistles pleasantly when he walks by the wonderful shops and among travelers who must touch the earth with their feet. Ignorance grows as the earth turns.

What is the groan we hear when the universe is silent?

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