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Death of a Misanthropist

The least poignant funeral
Is the death of a misanthropist
For a misanthropist had already
Died a lot of little deaths
And the world had already
Played a thousand exequies
In the chortles of their hilarity
That had molted abhorrence,
But then again, there's a death
That can obliterate a misanthrope
And it is the most pleasurable death
For it is the birth of a different life
Effacing the veneer of misanthropy

Now there is a flamboyant fire
Incinerating inside my belly
That bores an affluent hunger
For more life, more hope,
And I never wanted more breaths
To engulf all rues from deaths
That my sooty eyes grew darker
With the oil of potent verve
Realizing that perhaps, one good road
Is suffice and enough
If I can learn to bend
To fork a thousand rides.

It took the most lethal pit
And the most vital fall
To kill a misanthrope
Who yearns to be
One amongst the harlequins
And penetrate the revelries
Of the emancipated gypsies.

It took the grandest shards
Of heaven, of oblivion,
And it took the best times
With my sole friend
To stir the fumes of vitality
Basking inside the vapidity
Of the hunger for death
And abhorrence,
And of reclusion.

I have long been hiding
Inside my own vault
Not telling anyone anything
But still heeding expectations
To be probed, to be hauled,
And still flailing and failing
Swirling in the scythes
Of death's surfeit suicide.

The stretch had been painful,
And I am tired
And rueful.
Now I plead for my death,
Because I wanted more life.

I will exacerbate
The assuage
In this vied death
To pawn for life,
Far from the woebegone demise
In the capitulation of mendacity
And into to the slicing graze
Of my parsimonious reality;
A sapid prostrate mount
In the insurmountable convalesce
I cried "Break-even".

I owe this to you,
My darkest nadir,
My greatest topple.

I owe this to you,
My false-exoneration,
My veracious puncture.

I owe this to you,
My restless friends,
My fluent threads.

I owe this to you,
The witness of the lion,
My ballasting pole,
My best friend, dear Owl.

I owe this to you,
Ugly and beautiful people,
And to you,
My misanthropy.

poem by Norman Santos
Added by Poetry Lover
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