THE UNWOUND

THE UNWOUND

This is to those who misunderstand, or misread us,

Or who use all that’s written to set their own casual 

Agendas and theme; know your place and be warned

That your preoccupations don’t stop you from inflicting pain,

So, the question is whether or not your wounds bleed?

Some scar at will, as if it were a kind of habit, or hobby,

Just as catharsis will doubtlessly be ascribed to this verse.

But that isn’t the point. We all do what is natural to us,

So, while I write my thought wanders, knowing that any

Form of skill becomes curse. I can usually urge words

My way, which you can’t of course do with people. No-one

Can predict the reactions, even of a former lover, or, friend.

Time heals no thing. It simply offers perspective. You cannot

Forget amputation, or a betrayal of faith as love ends. You can,

Though, forgive, but then forgiveness too is a contract;

It entails stipulations and a maturity of course, at all times.

Which is the true test of faith, principally in ourselves,

And quite separately to each other: for instance, have we

The wherewithal and the weather to comfortably soothe

Each creased line? Rarely. Rarely . And so, we let a sea form

Between us. Or, the threat of sea. First, a trickle and then

A fast-swelling stream stains each bank. Then the river widens

Of course, and we are on opposing sides, streets and borders;

As potential wars make us soldiers, with or without claim to rank.

Soon enough, separate worlds with their nominated flags

Mark division. One way of life is as distant as some part

Dreamt alien. We seemingly walk the same earth, breathe

The same air and share language and yet such weaponry

Creates craters to place each of our joint failings in. It clearly

Doesn’t work. Nothing’s saved. And those still marked,

Attain labels. While, those who seemingly rise and move

Past this, deny at great risk the shared worth, of what once

Existed and shaped the love and trust since surrendered.

Two sides may well explode behind trenches but a broken heart

Remains burst. And there is always blood, soon made dream

As we continue to haunt the sequelled lives of each other.

A severed connection still binds you. And a forgotten friend

Makes life worse. Not perhaps for those who would rise,

And see people like me as the fallen; mourners lost to the form

Of grief they’ve got over, and yet once again, there’s more scope.

The point is that in life, and with all of the ills we all suffer,

The chance to connect and to honour, especially in these uncertain

Times is the hope that everyone wishes to seize. It is there when

We meet and first discover love in each other. So, to let each tear

Turn to river, or ocean, too cuts the rope which keeps us all

Bound to earth, while bearing the weight shared and wasted.

The human genome remains gnomic. It is an unknown coil

We unwind. If one person’s torn, then the other at least, should

Work with them, to relearn, or, unravel the struggle and positive

Means to refind what first was unwound; and what sprung

And then summered. Be it in love, life or friendship,

The clock and watchful turn strike profound. Each tainted day

Sees us small, as the seconds stream and drown in sad oceans,

And that wretched distance divides us. Know that place.

Its home silence bars all visitation and only entertains hate’s

Dark sound. If there is a life after this we may yet measure

Its span out together. But is that belief, or, conjecture?

Is this a matter of love’s wasted power, or simply the system

That marks and scars each stopped step? You are walking ahead.

While I keep my eye on the shadow. In its shape I glimpse changes

And yet in seeing them don’t forget what we were

And are still. Just not in this universe, maybe. The clock cries

As time fractures, but in the split seconds cast, you’re re-met.

David Erdos July 11th 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.