Chagrined
The menagerie of destructions
surrounds me like a barricade
to safeguard my weakening beacons
and I lean upon these beasts
so I can die with a proud fervor
against this vise like grip on my wrists
The degree of revulsion and
the manifold mechanisms of defense
are like vaporous vines crawling
to gather and concoct a virulent fruit -
the magnum of my astray identity
And if you are chagrined of
the bewildering signal fire upon me
and this asinine self-annihilation
cicatrizing my brazen thieveries
how much more flustered can I be?
But to kill, you have to learn to die
and all these yeilding dessication inside
exacerbates my ruminations
and enrapts all my tired pursuits;
I shall die building this dungeon
poem by Norman Santos
Added by Poetry Lover
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