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<div style="background:#fff;border:#bbb dashed 1px;padding:5px"><a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/comments.php?id=471424" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none"><div style="margin:10px 0"><strong>One Man Bandwagon of Harlequinade</strong></div><div style="margin:10px 0">I, inebriated by a saccharine mulling of the elapsed<br>Melee amidst the clock's sabers and now moored<br>By a pensive anchor that rattles with every mishaps<br>That whittles inside my ashen bones which chewed<br>Upon my scarce viscera; what disparity between poles<br>Could be more farcical than not one iota at all? </div><div style="margin:10px 0">For in the surly leaf of the final page the verity basks<br>In a prissy repose apt for a surreptitious usurper<br>That I am, after all, a harlequin guzzled by a mask<br>Of a crystal ball, reflecting and deflecting, to pilfer<br>The unnamed mirth in every drooping environs<br>Siphoned by the reeling exigency of self deception</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Ebullience is ephemeral only for the reason that<br>Death is a stealthy phantom, immortal in the ethereal<br>Grounds of a grotesque carnival ensconced in a hat<br>That I wore to subsist with the grotesque quintessential<br>Hamlet, teeming with a surfeit latticing fangs of beasts<br>And an infinitesimal number of vicarious pessimists</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Truth is, I lose myself in this insuperable loquaciousness<br>As I grope for what I desire and how the death is casted<br>Forlorn as a reticent lion's ought to be, I do behest<br>And plea for a hand to rise in the sea of the oppressed<br>Maudlin that I am; I kneel every night to haggle for my craving<br>To be in the bassinet of lovely people, or to efface this aspiring</div><div style="margin:10px 0">The thought of your pity smothers me and, in my gaunt nakedness, <br>I know well that I deserve it, earned it, for I am truly devoured, <br>Like a hapless gazelle gnashed by a tiger, by vicious loneliness<br>That I inexorably severed from these golden chains, a melancholic discord<br>I'm ailed and dead-beaten from riling, from cloying a maneuver<br>And in the muted times of its rapine, I, alone, mournfully flounder</div><div style="margin:10px 0">I, alone, wallowed into the graves of my thousand deaths<br>In mausoleums stalled in the quagmire of my chambers<br>Igniting the wick in my bloodshot eyes and slathering tourniquets<br>To dab the wounds to rebuild the skyscrapers you love to slander<br>So that in this parceled desolation I can become a writer<br>And assert my existence in this laconically fiendish winter</div><div style="margin:10px 0">I'll bleed again before the eulogy of this poem tingle the schmaltz air<br>And reiterate my cacophonous half-breathing quintessence: <br>I am bleakly alone and I cannot stand it, sometimes I do not care<br>But it's only a sedating stratagem; I want to be with acquaintances<br>Whom I've seen clearly and held in the stark pitch blackness<br>And who have perceived the one man bandwagon inside the forlornness.</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=471424" data-title="One Man Bandwagon of Harlequinade de Norman Santos" data-description="I, inebriated by a saccharine mulling of the elapsed
Melee amidst the clock's sabers and now moored
By a pensive anchor that rattles with every mishaps
That whittles inside my ashen bones which chewed
Upon my scarce viscera; what disparity between..."></div>
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