A DEATH OF EROS, A WITNESS TO DISASTER
‘Seeing so much activity of the mind devour her natural beauty
is painful in that blame is always the culprit, to blame others,
to set sin in the heart and feed it anger and hatred, I feel her
and she hates that the shared experience takes place.
A field of rolled hay, the Georgia green fields that when absent
I yearn for as a long in the past love, this land, this air,
Life is always balancing and sometimes it does fall, it is in the Fall
We understand our own methods of what seems to me as
Ridicule of the heart and the mind, of a war that despises the spirit
Rather seeks to understand the Holy Spirit.
I fought it all my life up until the moment Christ entered and spoke
As he does to many, he spoke those piercing words from his own wounds
Into those who are open to this event, this unraveling of discord: the awakened soul.
I pray she awaken.
The meanness and name-calling, the rumbling roar of hatred shoots across constellations,
I pace each room looking at what I can and cannot move, what and how
Shall I move into it’s place as a memory catcher and lightening rod to poetry
And music, as a direct course to writing again when I see so many boxes
Filled with notes, version after version, expansive poems it hurts to imagine
What awaits, but wait they do and so here I piddle, wondering how to help
Heal one cannot be healed. It hurts to see how she destroys the beauty of Spirit
And of God while thinking it is a direct line. It is not a direct line.
I fear madness has taken hold and she cannot cope sober and blames
Others for the ongoing disaster. To be witness to the disaster is painful.
I must. I smell the slow burning of the death or Eros.
Not much can be said in the whirlwind of such hatred.
Sad captures and identifies a mind at war. The balance is leaning downward
Further every day and every day I try to offer conversation and light;
Every day I am a lone figure in a Hopper painting.
Failed. Smoking a non-filter Camel. Glass of Tulimore Dew in hand.
Lone. I must seek more deeply into my heart and soul.
I am witness to the disaster and I cannot “do” or “act”.
It is like being the camera in war.