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<div style="background:#fff;border:#bbb dashed 1px;padding:5px"><a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/comments.php?id=471084" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none"><div style="margin:10px 0"><strong>A Perfect Day To Sail</strong></div><div style="margin:10px 0">Autumn hovered above the maladroit clouds<br>To descry our sanctum and astray meanders<br>And She shuddered, sprinkling a daze of gold<br>And sifted the ashes and bones of our deaths<br>In the sieves of Her trident are the remnants<br>Where my soul remained haplessly enthralled<br>And we watched it wan and die in a murder: <br>An auspicious castration of the gray curtains<br>In your resilient grin it flaunts a descant of scenes-<br>A bipolar thrill cleaves in me, a timorous ecstasy: <br>Eccentric and riveting, undulating and banefully riving.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">The ghastly gossamer blooms saliently in the mire<br>Like a trickle of blood blossoming in the silver lake, <br>The ruse of vicissitude obfuscates a brand new shade<br>And the excoriation tautly smothers my inside<br>Drowning the myriad collections of pilfered sighs<br>But your picture was a pristine escalation, a stupor <br>Of purged exoneration, I loosen my heaving breath<br>Unlatched my tacit eyes to resign my contending<br>And permit the enigmatic lagoon tinker my incertitude<br>For it mirrors your mirth, and there sank my ululations</div><div style="margin:10px 0">&quot;The veneer of the lake, the psalms of the mimic sierras, <br>The soughing of the albino birches, the chanting of cicadas, <br>The touting of the gilded rays, the disgorging of the panorama, <br>The diadem of the sky; like an aubade of fata morgana&quot;<br>You uttered them in a foreign voice that flabbergasts my storms<br>I cringed, lost in insecurity, musing on the ail of your panacea<br>And the whirlwind inside sculls heavier but the lake was mute<br>And resilient as you are, perhaps, I needed an ounce of fortitude- <br>A sliver of hope, a shard of faith: a chance to experience verve</div><div style="margin:10px 0">In a sly jauntiness you seared like a blithe phalanx<br>And I vied for involution to reap my own wings <br>But I can only connive with the shoved ghosts<br>And commiserate with the aborted sorrows, <br>A desolate man juxtaposed a vindicated soul<br>In front of a fastidious lake that mirrors my demands, <br>I flinched but I cannot reveal, I broke but I cannot bleed<br>I interposed my share of inconsistency but I cannot feel<br>A desolate man—a warden, a prison; a perplex abolition <br>Is all that I can sap from the plenitude of sedations</div><div style="margin:10px 0">&quot;It is a good day for a stride, let's haul the boat&quot;<br>You inveigled with the season's gaudy feint<br>&quot;Of course, let's hurtle down the sleeping lake&quot;<br>I superimposed an unrivaled acquiescence<br>But the fears marauding like tempest thunders<br>Sundered the soul from the quintessence of words<br>And there you are in your abundant bliss<br>Ferried in a chaise of victory, eagerly departing<br>To greener grounds, I assume without doubts<br>While I remained moored into my crackled grounds<br>Capitulated by the chicanery of severe turpitude<br>&quot;Ho! The wind is good—warm and cold! &quot;<br>You hollered as you run and swell like the lake<br>I broke another grin for the oxymoronic slate<br>And the fogs devoured your fine silhouette<br>As winter perched in my shoulders, frost biting<br>My finagling yearns and thwarting my fleet</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Riveted with a peremptory despondence for escape<br>I can only aggrandize the inadequate profanity<br>&quot;This is my moiré skin, see the scars running? <br>These are my maps, the vales in the cicatrix; <br>This what I cannot depart, in all my spite, <br>This is where I have become—my ocean, my lake, <br>My only birth land and my sole grave&quot;<br>I quivered my lips in your bleared visage<br>And from the veil a bray pierced like lightning<br>&quot;It's a perfect day to sail! &quot; There was quietude<br>&quot;It's a perfect day to sail! &quot; Your new etude.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">The sun smoldered His wrath arduously <br>And the dews slewed from the genteel leaves<br>Whilst I, unmoved in my inert imposed grace, <br>Sailed the perfect day to sail away.</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>
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<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=471084" data-title="A Perfect Day To Sail de Norman Santos" data-description="Autumn hovered above the maladroit clouds
To descry our sanctum and astray meanders
And She shuddered, sprinkling a daze of gold
And sifted the ashes and bones of our deaths
In the sieves of Her trident are the remnants
Where my soul remained hapl..."></div>
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