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The Collective: The Silent Caryatid
Adamantine legs, eyes of stone
A pillar, a monolith, or a soul
Hushed from the turbulent drone
And frozen was its vehement coal
The reticent flame swore to its bones
To congeal in the torpor of the dole
Veiled in apathy, guised grotesquely;
A connoisseur of neutral composure
And of the covenant to secrecy
The ancient enigma in your stature
Is a labyrinthine alley that perpetually
Denies the rupture, denies to rapture.
Are you weeping? Are you futile?
Hatching deaths all the time?
Cold and lifeless are your eyes
And your breaths worth a dime?
Pray tell, is this your wile:
A caryatid moving the immobile crime?
I would die to watch you prance
Contending to give life a blinded chance.
poem
by
Norman Santos
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