<div style="background:#fff;border:#bbb dashed 1px;padding:5px"><a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/comments.php?id=471083" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none"><div style="margin:10px 0"><strong>A Night in Their Attic</strong></div><div style="margin:10px 0">From this attic, the ceiling is<br>Almost kissing the floor<br>And the hapless heart is<br>No too far from a plethora of slumber<br>As I lay here, pensively wafting<br>In the smoldering rail tracks of oblivion<br>Darting to the final station: an abeyance</div><div style="margin:10px 0">My sodden eyes swept the parameter<br>And it measured the expanse; <br>Everything was closer.<br>My emaciated chest<br>Can even rise to graze<br>The creamy phosphors of the ceiling<br>But there was a backdoor<br>Where everything slewed<br>Because in their attic<br>I was still<br>Bleak<br>Rolling in the gutters.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">The clock didn't shifted<br>Its gears and triggered<br>A blacker serration of cinders<br>Plummeting with the pillars<br>Of my constitutions<br>Yet, I engulfed the humming air<br>Like I never tasted it<br>Because I wanted more life<br>And there could be one, <br>Stashed in these corners.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">The moon didn't sprawled on her divan, <br>The sun didn't grind his maws, <br>And the crowd didn't fill<br>The maladroit patios, <br>But I was breathing<br>Between the floors<br>And the ceilings, <br>Restless from a revelry<br>And a lack of slumber<br>As how I wanted to be<br>Benumb from<br>Bereavement: <br>A life cloyed<br>By genial walls.</div><div style="margin:10px 0"><br /></a><br />poem by <a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/by.php?a=Norman+Santos">Norman Santos</a><div class=q> <img src="https://www.citatepedia.ro/g/32share.png" style="float:left" alt="Share"> <script type="text/javascript" src="//s7.addthis.com/js/300/addthis_widget.js#pubid=citatepedia" async="async"></script><div style="display:inline-block" class="addthis_sharing_toolbox" data-url="http://en.citatepedia.ro/comments.php?id=471083" data-title="A Night in Their Attic de Norman Santos" data-description="From this attic, the ceiling is Almost kissing the floor And the hapless heart is No too far from a plethora of slumber As I lay here, pensively wafting In the smoldering rail tracks of oblivion Darting to the final station: an abeyance My sodden..."></div> </div> </div>

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