Far from Tintern Abbey

Maybe, somewhere south of Easton, somewhere in the trackless
Wastes which form the spurs of mountains, Cascades, spilling
From the mother of all topographic perturbations, north of there,
Up in BC, I'll find a place providing peace, and, on the banks
Of some small creek, already named, fur-clad explorers having
Wandered by before, I'll lay my head, my throbbing head,
Upon the loam and soothing grass, beneath the waving arms
Of willows. Time will pass, and all that perturbs me will
Pass out of my mind, and I will stare into the water, clear as air,
And I will see the hordes of minnows. I will understand, at last,
That such discrete displays of what I cannot say I cannot see
Are what I've wanted. Clouds come over mountains, almost
As if they are seeking me, but I'll take cover under overhanging
Rocks, beside the water. Somewhere south of Easton, I will sidle
Toward a creek, and all the planet's perturbations will pass, not
Affecting me. I'll lie on rocks. I'd like to thrive. I can't say that I will,
But I can say that there, beneath the ponderosas, I will do my best
To stand up, as if I can conquer mountains. Both of us know
That I can't, and both of us are too aware that, should you lurch toward me,
Thinking that your love could salvage me, I'll fade, a flower, dying.
South of Easton, west of all the creek beds sloped toward Columbia,
A lonely voice within my mind is moaning that our time has ended,
And that what I thought I wanted wasn't anything at all. The sun
Comes up, and then it sinks, and, in the trackless wastes of Easton,
Someone threads among cascades. The woods are full of them.

Poetry by Lawrence Beck The PoetBay support member heart!
Read 100 times
Written on 2018-06-15 at 20:11

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Oh my! This was beautiful. I fairly understand the ravaging need to turn down affection and run off somewhere far from this source, even if in a rushed moment, to let things settle within your own mind first in solitude. That love, or here, this life you've been living, is not the answer is a feeling keeps rising up time and again. I've read the whole piece three times already and it's still as beautiful in its intent and imagery as it is universal. So much love to you for this 🖤

Lawrence, Lawrence, Lawrence
. So much to admire

jim The PoetBay support member heart!
This is a poignant look at remembrance, hope, and regret. Well done.