The Stench Of Demise
The sea of silence rise tonight
its wind grinded its teeth,
the water froths saline voices,
and its claw gnawed on the seams
sibilantly stropping, aggressively stimulating
the dislimned threshold of my being
The warehouse opened with rage
and it feigned no resistance
It propelled its gust on the shadows
masquerading my abashed reflection
and exhumed the gravid tolls of time
Nothing in the song of mockingbirds
beckoned the bereft of afternoons
but the veil is lifted from its charade
and here, the archenemy stood before me
staring daggers of guilt and naivety
and outgrowing my young senescence
The aeons corrupted the chalcedony
of its scintillated graininess
and played the requiem with a proud trumpet
the sepulcher paraded to the gloaming
There is no avail, there is no escape
the petals withered like winter
and the crowfeet undocked from my eyes
belligerent of the northern needle,
my maps and pathways wrinkled;
I am old and indifferently the same.
poem by Norman Santos
Added by Poetry Lover
Comment! | Vote! | Copy!
