A LONELY LIBERATION by David Erdos - Poem 18 from THE PEOPLES PRISON

Poem 18 from THE PEOPLES PRISON

A LONELY LIBERATION

It is as if I were in a world of my own,

Despite the Covidian distance. People leave.

They dissemble. The precious die.

 

Friendships fail. And the year’s forceful push

Has left a sea none can swim through. Indeed,

So thick is this water, that not even blood

 

Spurs the sail. The lonely ghost shadows me;

A face from my own premonition. As I write

These words or sit reading, or before

 

A treasured film things dissolve.

And the times I had then in a close corral

Of prized people freshly resembles

 

A fiction that not even faith could absolve.

I’m The Omega Man in my way, and, God

Forbid, Charlton Heston. Without the height,

 

But still searching through the time scrubbed

Streets for a trace of what was felt then,

Whether it was the ghost of…you: Can you

 

Hear me? Or as previously stated, my parents

Or other people I’ve loved; each dreamt face.

I journeyed home on a train from a night out

 

Just last month but I had no real conversation.

It was as if I had lost my skill. And while zooming

I can feel my former zeal dissipate. Now, on bad

 

Days it has been replaced by frustration.

And suddenly I have a need for translation

As even my heart masturbates. It has been raking

 

Over former glories no doubt; times in which

I could share my thoughts within freedom,

And where I did not feel quite as packaged,

 

Or as guarded, too, or misread. Where I could

Be my own open book as opposed to this clicked

One, and where I could learn the full measure

 

Of a friendly stare or shared bed. The liberation

Arrives when it truly is your sole option. One

Learns to embrace it and to start a hidden dance

With the dead. Try to imagine that waltz as the characters

Emerge in my background; from books, graphic novels,

The films I’ve stacked and the songs which all sing to me

 

In any number of voices. For how long now then,

This chorus? This silent approach, this stalled throng?

We man, woman or unman the gates. But the days

 

Are cold, so I linger. Someday soon, someone..

Save me. But like Sam Beckett, and until you do,

 

I’ll go on. 

 

 

 

 

 

David Erdos, December 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.