<div style="background:#fff;border:#bbb dashed 1px;padding:5px"><a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/comments.php?id=471430" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none"><div style="margin:10px 0"><strong>Ousted</strong></div><div style="margin:10px 0">In this madhouse world<br>Where the beacons are blind<br>And the canopies succumb<br>My eager sprouting vines<br>I tend to escape away<br>Engage in a subtle espionage<br>For the quintessence of life<br>Does not crawl in the skin<br>Of this moiré perfection that<br>Idealism vied to wrought<br>Under our noses and<br>Beneath our roof beams.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">A tatterdemalion meanderer<br>Of agog sole and yearning, <br>A goaded and fragile arsenal<br>Of words and contours<br>Slurring in surreal slopes<br>To defy and to define<br>My voraciousness for hope<br>A touch on its sterile skin<br>Chaste, clean and deceptive—<br>A blinded scheme of beauty<br>I am a stain, a blotch of blood<br>Like a maladroit red pyrotechnic<br>Scintillating eloquently in <br>The undulations of the water<br> <br>So I trampled in a rendezvous <br>With the stale grandiose of bitterness<br>Ensconced in the trance and<br>Inveigles of cheap panaceas<br>To desperately dab the wounds<br>Of the flagrant destitution<br>And to extol the fumes that<br>Will hide the desiccation<br>Of an unrequited contending<br>And no one will have to know<br>That you are ousted from<br>The sunset of your own funeral.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Everything shriveled, <br>Darkened and crunched<br>And putrefied without<br>A chance of exoneration <br>Because I cannot mourn with you<br>And dissect my lamentations<br>In your hands, for you have<br>Superfluous wrists of four<br>But only a single pulse<br>That cannot alter the beating<br>For a klutz waltz of death<br>If another wrist shall bleed<br>And the sun went down<br>Dripping with a red star<br>Ousted from the sky.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">This is how it works; <br>This is how we'll subsist<br>When the Gods sequester<br>The bones and the morsels<br>From the aptitude of spirit<br>Ousted from their schemes<br>Their lives tight-roping seams<br>To live on without it and in<br>Solitary confinement.</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=471430" data-title="Ousted de Norman Santos" data-description="In this madhouse world Where the beacons are blind And the canopies succumb My eager sprouting vines I tend to escape away Engage in a subtle espionage For the quintessence of life Does not crawl in the skin Of this moiré perfection that Idealism..."></div> </div> </div>

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