For Sybella
In the blind corner of a slope
Mellifluously painted by her lips
And the crow claws clinging
Into the vividness of her orbits
Was a clandestine damsel
With lithe hands that dangles
Lifelessly for a valiant knight
To fill in the vacant spaces
Of the latticing jocund events
And the silence spoke of so many things
Like the yawning of her ocean's tides
Calling in an esoteric plea
For somebody to arrive naked
From a face, a name,
A myriad of promises,
But a soul made of amber and warmth
Holding a key to the ethereal
Impasse of consistent forever.
In the corners of her rooms,
Weaving a blanket with yarns
To fondle and embrace
The crying maudlin in the nights
Of vying for the rise of the sun
Ornately entangling the strings
And it pulled back to ail
Tightly in her skin of snow
Melting in the ubiquitous summer
But never losing its mistral curse,
Extemporizing gaiety and anguish
To people with cellars for ears
And thieves for hearts
Touching the emptiness
From the belly to the heart
And gorging it with abandonment,
Fueling resentment.
Sybella, the lady of secrets
Have you heard the sun singing
For the warm flight of canaries?
Is it futile?
Do not fall in blind rile.
poem by Norman Santos
Added by Poetry Lover
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