A New Flame for the Old Embers
The vapid rain breaking upon the quietude
of the pebbles under our monastic feet
reminds me of the words sent into your halls
ricocheting like a phantom's dying plea -
futilely emitted from the shy rupture,
a premature eruption, to taste the savvy
of disappointments and rueful affinities
How aplomb are the pummeling underneath
the weather's veins - blue and sterile as
the ethers inflamed inside my nights
I fell into a dreamy stupor, loquacious sibilance
stings like a razor from the charred memories
And, through and through, I slide inside
the abortive cradle of fire, wondering
if the flames invoked by the same embers
are alike, or do they dissipate and die
when the rain collapses from its slumber
and leave remnants of its piquant touch to
give birth to another ocean of soldering mirages
In this horizontal vertigo of water and flame,
I instill enigmas into the interpolating leaves
and some other night, under a new moon
I would ruminate awake and bleared: to what
these soughing violins of the trees demand?
Like a thunder whetted by the extremities
of temperature, I hoard all these injuries
and soon would my sun reveal its horns
and the superfluous flames it had hatched
from the brooding upon atrophied ties
Because for now, I can only live inside
the chrysalis of the mind, cicatrizing
the salted wounds and dabbing the
beautiful smears that I shall nurture
to make wings of vanity and, here
I shall dream of flitting back unto
your cavernous firmament like
a defunct chandelier swooning for
your flamboyant palettes, and dream
I shall, until the colors subside and dissolve
into my fastidious realizations
of lacquered flames prancing
above these cold ancient coals.
poem by Norman Santos
Added by Poetry Lover
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