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<div style="background:#fff;border:#bbb dashed 1px;padding:5px"><a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/comments.php?id=471442" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none"><div style="margin:10px 0"><strong>Penultimate Clout</strong></div><div style="margin:10px 0">The hands of heaven<br>constantly incinerates<br>and hones violence, <br>but I fear no more, <br>for I rival no more</div><div style="margin:10px 0">The dog before the door<br>forebodes a peril<br>that can only blossom<br>the clandestine desire<br>to percolate the lusty things<br>veiled in dark sheens</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Where does the flock<br>of birds fly? And what <br>sent them in flight? </div><div style="margin:10px 0">I knocked on the door<br>and the call echoed through<br>The sky crumpled and<br>celestial stones mangled<br>instigating an azure flame<br>behind its montage</div><div style="margin:10px 0">The hound jumped<br>unsheathed its fangs in defense<br>and snide in the air<br>but there is no barricade<br>that can decline alliance<br>for in the gnarled viscera<br>hides the faintly embers <br>of his weakness<br>waiting for a hand<br>to reach to his succor</div><div style="margin:10px 0">I remain unshaken<br>by the beatings of holocaust<br>because the climate asleep<br>inside the brittle bones<br>is worse than the verisimilitude<br>of a million shadow</div><div style="margin:10px 0">But why do these birds<br>resumes their departure? <br>Would do sun never dock again<br>upon this desolate island? </div><div style="margin:10px 0">The fire is quelled<br>the embers lay without a pulse<br>when the hands climbed down<br>and a hope dawned</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=471442" data-title="Penultimate Clout de Norman Santos" data-description="The hands of heaven
constantly incinerates
and hones violence, 
but I fear no more, 
for I rival no more

The dog before the door
forebodes a peril
that can only blossom
the clandestine desire
to percolate the lusty things
veiled in dark sheens

W..."></div>
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