The Setting Sun
The horizon bloomed
Or languidly toppled
Tenderly into a sooty
Gelid oil canvass
Of ash and blue blood
And I fracture my neck
Just to wince back
In its gloomy eyes
And I knew
From the brevity
Of her stares
That she was about
To cry.
The portly blares
Of the afternoon haze
Rested her florid hand
On my coarse face
And shifted it
In a placid sweep
To a stellar gloaming
Jumping rooftops
And skipping ropes
With electric cables;
The yellow icy sun
Was fringed
In a bland condensation
Of azure and white
And it was
A scraped spot
Of the subsiding
Fire of the day.
I looked around
Dragging fire
Into the sodden
Valleys of the lungs;
The traffic was
In a carousel,
The fast-food chain
Was a carnival,
And no one cared
About the modest hope
Pleading to be
Molested by
A utopic vision
And I thought
What a miserable life
It is to be
The setting sun.
poem by Norman Santos
Added by Poetry Lover
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