Click in the field, then press CTRL+C to copy the HTML code
The Throne
I stood amidst a thousand place
In a single shifting of a day
My legs ached, my knees throbbed -
In malcontent and bereavement
And my salient stance cringed confounding
To muse on too many places in one glance;
In the hollow vestibule of churches,
The putrid cushion in a bus,
The noisy creaking chair in a class,
The rocking chair swinging for decadence,
The lavish divan in a parlor,
The Victorian craft in a banquet,
The eiderdown in a perforated cloud;
All were impressed by presences
Because to matter, you occupy space
And weigh it down with your grace
Whilst I stood amongst seated legs
Crossed and folded in security
Married to a vacant throne
Assembled by my agog hands,
Lacquered by the hands of time
And weighed by the colossal
Absence of a queen
Because to live you have to give life
So I stand here, waiting hopefully
For someone to take this open hand
Of this vacant throne betrothed to
The myriad reasons to doubt
To have and have not hope
So I stood amidst the blaring crowd
Faster and fastidious than a rose
Taking it slowly, unraveling the eternity
Of waiting and the artistry
Of never effacing the neutral poise.
poem
by
Norman Santos
solid border
dashed border
dotted border
double border
groove border
ridge border
inset border
outset border
no border
blue
green
red
purple
cyan
gold
silver
black