<div style="background:#fff;border:#bbb dashed 1px;padding:5px"><a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/comments.php?id=471521" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none"><div style="margin:10px 0"><strong>Struggling For The Dead</strong></div><div style="margin:10px 0">From the dampen earth, where the tall grass blades<br>Never glistened with the svelte grazes of the moon<br>Slathered with petrichor and moonstruck iridescence<br>I crumpled the fragments of your soul, the humidity<br>Festooned with varmints' sinewy crawling tingles<br>And delinquent stifles from translucent genocide—<br>A caroming weeps of treason of the salted bones<br>And putrefied flesh, disintegrating the strangled soul.<br>Beguiled as a lachrymose hero in a phantom warfare<br>Hands flailing with the flutters of defeat and barricaded<br>Chance of redemption; a long dead barren ground unshaken<br>By any toiling cry and unsheathed swords, I shrill my bones<br>Just to lament a line in the harried specks of time; <br>The blame is in the warm crimson draping the hilt<br>In the pain reckoning life, erected like a statue<br>Apt for this eloquently written statuesque direst<br>Where you swam leisurely under the charlatan sun<br>Devouring the portrait envisaged in the lunatic ball<br>Gravid with the enthralls of perpetuity, it is a lie; <br>Now die, sink into the water and let the bubbles<br>Transpire in ephemeral truancy and remind me<br>Of the myriad of thousand deaths that gave me<br>Life, in the scars of your loins and in stones<br>Casted for a preempted necromancy.</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=471521" data-title="Struggling For The Dead de Norman Santos" data-description="From the dampen earth, where the tall grass blades Never glistened with the svelte grazes of the moon Slathered with petrichor and moonstruck iridescence I crumpled the fragments of your soul, the humidity Festooned with varmints' sinewy crawling ..."></div> </div> </div>

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