F.F.F.F. (FEARS FOR F***ED FUTURES)

F.F.F.F. (FEARS FOR F***ED FUTURES)

Fear forms, unbidden,

With all of its mystery still established.

A matter of shock, or knowledge,

It rarely informs, never speaks.

And so, as I sit and consider,

In sun, the possible dark of the future

Appears or forms on the clear air

Like a tiny black square as hope peaks.

What will happen to us, and to me,

Too, when I’m standing? Waiting for work

Like the answer that Philosophers seek

Is no quest. Instead it is a tired trek

On numbed roads which at some point

We’ll be walking, away from what we were

And once treasured and towards other

Options, or coupons perhaps, as time tests.

We all secretly hope for the same;

A fast rewind, a repainting, but surely

The world will look different as will, perhaps

Each of us. I wonder if you will accept

My fast hug, my comrade’s kiss,

My slow rapture at seeing you all there

Close beside me, in order to regroup

That old trust. Or will the fresh paint

THEY’VE applied be tantamount

To rebranding, as uniforms make new

Fashions that the youngsters adopt

With false pride. Orwell’s 1984 came

And stayed, coasting in subliminal ways

That sought surface; such as Parliamentary

Bills, abused language, and bloated Potentates

Spreading lies. It isn’t about a Police state

As much as it is a possible censorship

Between houses, as we batter down a la Ballard

And erect new sensations from the Kingdoms

This societal collapse will arouse.

It could be a fucked future, I fear,

But then fucking is mankind’s

Raison d’etre. And fucking up his long

Habit. If only women ruled we’d know

More. Or understand where we are,

As we undress ourselves before dinner,

To reveal our need and our hunger

For everything we savoured before.

We do not know what will be.

We might yet be rationed.

Will the NHS we’re applauding

Be finally drained and need funds?

They could still sell it off,

As that was the plan before Brexit.

I can’t afford to die if I’m honest,

So must ask the question: will it be

Immortality or the gun? Don’t worry,

I don’t have the balls. Or the gun.

But back on the bus, there’ll be danger

As I question another ignorant bastard

Who believes we all have to hear

The inane, either in their music, or words.

For we lost all courtesy before Covid.

So will this internal exile grant lessons

That will with the power of tears

Douse all flames? I fear it, and know

That you will find me pessimistic.

But a poem at heart, aims for progress,

Or some sort of change as it rhymes.

In fact, in either rhyme or blank verse,

It calls across the world for shared stanzas;

Songs to drown darkness and strike bright

Light with each line. And so, for now,

I am fucked, while unfucked. And placing

My passion here, full of loving; hoping

For the return of the future

That we predicted once, beyond time.

For time has changed too. The days

Have become incestuous these days.

Identical siblings that I want to

Separate to find mine.

I do not know who you are.

But even if I don’t know you,

I love you.

For you, alone, are hope hidden.

And you alone hold hope’s sign.

David Erdos, May 22nd 2020

For more poems from David Erdos visit The Corona Diaries collection 

David Erdos is an actor, writer, director with over 300 professional credits. He is a published poet, playwright, essayist and illustrator. He has lectured on all disciplines in theatre and film for leading performing arts colleges, schools and universities around the world. His books include EASY VERSES FOR DIFFICULT TIMES, THE SCAR ON THE CLOUD, OIL ON SILVER, NEWS FROM MARS, CHANGING PLACES WITH LIGHT (penniless press) and BYZANTIUM with the photographer Max Reeves. He is a contributing editor for The International Times and maker of documentaries all over the world. David’s work has been acclaimed by many leading figures including Harold Pinter, Heathcote Williams, Alan Moore, Andrew Kotting, Chris Petit and Iain Sinclair in whose recent book THE LAST LONDON, David features. He can be reached at David.erdos@sky.com.

David Erdos

©    David Erdos has asserted his moral rights as author of his work and has full copyright.