The Harlequin
In the clout of a shotgun world
Of feral catwalk alleys
And dog-strut hungers
Subsistence is a farce comedy
Rummaging in the ripples
Of one's convictions
And the furor wrought
By such idiotic bliss;
Of obstreperous finagling
In the batting eyelashes
Of make believing,
Is the swansong
Of the ethereal, non-carnal,
Point blank demise.
Ball a smoldering spit
Inside the brawls of one's feet
And you may find the streak
Of unflawed erudite alibis
For these chortles,
And the pantomimic silence
That I spill in a platter
Of another slapstick charade
Of a feigned harlequinade—
Raveling a thread
Of luridly tangled fences
Made of yarn and lattices
Of tethering promises
A make-up in lieu of mendaciloquence.
Will you comb the tresses
Of this woebegone capitulate
Within the pillars of the self?
Deceiving the perpetual churning
Of the crippling bones
And all its lovely yearning
To be one with guffawing
Without the inflection of pestering
Yet, the manacles I woven
Cannot be shorn by the secretion
Of a perfectly maneuvered
Soliloquy and isolation.
Palm this intoxication
With the treacle of your blood.
Guzzled by a mask
D'you think the harlequin
Breaks the twitching with
Veritable effervescence?
Roll those marbled vision
And undrape the visage
Of saccharine pride;
A harlequin is poignant in all places
With black teeth and disembogued eyes,
It is you who laugh
With every esoteric motion
Be it flight or fall
What are you looking at?
What are you wishing for?
poem by Norman Santos
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Related quotes
Harlequin
(brooker / reid)
Harlequin has lost his crown
Look they say a broken clown
Yesterday he ruled the world
Now hes crying to be heard
Yesterday he called the tune
Now hes howling at the moon
Harlequin has broken down
Harlequin, harlequin has lost his crown
Harlequin has broken loose
Slipped the knot and skipped the noose
Can those bloodhounds find his trail
Will they send him back to jail
Can those bloodhounds find his scent
Will they find out where he went
Harlequin cannot be found
Harlequin, harlequin has gone to ground
Break
Harlequin is back on top
Now his fame will never stop
See him shown from coast to coast
Hes the one they love the most
See them slap him on the back
How they love his every crack
Harlequin we knew youd do it
Harlequin, harlequin
Harlequin, harlequin
Harlequin, harlequin
Harlequin, harlequin
Harlequin, harlequin
song performed by by Hollies
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Ad Astra Per Aspera
Hiss with the silence if it wouldn't stir,
Brave the lion with congealed fear,
And you'll figure how the bullets sing
Embracing the force without ducking the sting
In a rippling dream of kerosene
Ignite the flame of the obscene
Vista of nakedness dispensed into lewd
Vulnerability, though the sentries stood
With all the surrealistic smatters
Of the reeling picture behind the shutters
And the albino leaves of the old sycamore
Will pour down its vapid phosphor,
While the rustles will swoon over the soul
As it engulfed the body in whole
Dripping into her supple breasts
As the night don its very best
Subliminal guise to entice
The weary batting of wandering eyes
To severe the golden ties,
To sever the tethering lies
In a shotgun clout more pliant than
A dilettante danseuse of the sun
Fondling my submission in the painful trance
Induced by the garish tempo of the dance
Of the lapses in the liminalities
When all the lovely bones sing with me
The sirens swansong of temporal keys;
Slinging mud into the skies
To give life to gravid star-cries,
And altering the times of the night
When we were one in a harried flight.
In spite of all the shifting of bridges
And all the sifting of the hinges
I still weave my web to be amongst
The sequestered blood of our long
Putrefying trail of gilded yarns
Please, take me again into your arms
And if this be painful, if this be sad
I'll sunder the glory I desire to clad
Just to be with you in your island
Licked before the isthmus can fortify the sand
Into a swarthy road towards the crown
Of your place's albino sun
And I pledge never to run athwart
In the veiled chambers the heart
Until there'll be none
No famished hope to become
The beauty in loins
Or the peril in the noise
Just one amongst the sludge
Giving birth to the remote trudge
Towards the star screams
Whispering in salient films
Hands pointing to the sky
Shearing your heaven's eyes
Like fences, divulging
Vulnerability, toppling.
poem by Norman Santos
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Tonight, The Silence Rise
In these dire times
Silence is a perilous harbinger
Of many wretched auguries
Like a hellhound's bark
Gagged by a turbulent whim
Rummaging through the sedation
Palled by the generous night
And the absence of distractions:
Lips sapping deaths on sticks,
Eyes fluttering with the pendulum,
Electric tongues forking clouds,
Rose-wine flame roaring inside,
And the lionized brethren of souls
Lamenting on the moon's harlequinade
I perish and writhe unbeknownst
To the diadem of revolving doors
That you opened like a wound
And left with a wrathful storm
In this silence, where sleep
Laid buried among the quartz
And peace revealed itself a mask
Guzzling the yellow teeth gritting
In morbid pain and despondence
Darker than your own flipping wings
I am beckoned back to the rooms
Where your last cigarette stick incinerates
Without your fervent dragging
And your last promises of infinitude
Tarnished in its relented demise
And the loneliness in these rooms
Of fragmented verve, dissected deaths
Is ineffable in the brine of tears
Chaffing through the defeated eyes
poem by Norman Santos
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The Stage
Insidious, harlequin jewel.
the melodrama waits among it's peers,
listening for it's entrance onto the stage.
But alas,
a thin mustached buffoon spit's out
in deep exaltation
'not all the world hides behind a mask! '
poem by Josh Hathcock
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Kerosene Dove
From the dithering distance
The fountain puke swelling
In the belly of the sedentary sheens
Excoriating the cobbled streets
In the void knots of the theme park:
Amused with clockwork courtesy
And a tethering idiosyncrasy,
But the azure moiré of the canopy
Was no better than the soigné hostility
Imploding a muted friction;
A compulsion in its best
That scathes the incrustations
Of a reticent fellow in the flue
Clipping the flustering plumes
In the comport of a king
Ousted from his throne
Injecting the secrets to the bones
That where hollow in constitution.
Our fellow dove made of kerosene
Opted the safety in the blear of the scene
Suffocating on the surfeit effervesce of coos
While the soupcon quintessence kicked and flew
Far from the cotillion of the pendulums
And the infelicitous instigator of the palming odium,
But in the frangible hurls of the paroxysm
Beneath the torpor of his brooding wings
Is a fire that consoles the condoles of bliss
Yearning for the violent daze of the setting sun
To flick the yawning switch of shuffled impulse
Clipping itself to branch out in deeper fathoms
In the bosom of a cavern with smoldering fences
The wafting with the winnows of inadequacy
Lingering in the air will gyrate to enthuse
The urges of sadomasochism in the kerosene
Lathering and inebriating our taciturn fellow
With pseudo-valiancy and its kiths and kins
Thus, he will hurtle unfettered by any string
And he shall kiss the pregnant gloaming
Allowing its fingers to seize and grate
The lithe feathers bristling to scintillate
With the ignition of the kerosene
And the air shall stop breathing
And fanning the implosion of whim
To watch the dove incinerate
Slithering in austere vividness
Into a surreal orb of quasar
Sending the sun to abeyance
While singing the swansong in synergy;
The demise in an esoteric lilt
Humming in a whispering sift.
poem by Norman Santos
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Toxic Treacle
The verisimilitude of grandiose
Sprawled in a perfidious repose
On the bassinet of filth
Of infinite clockwork:
A fairytale or drudgery,
And the ephemeral mirth:
Sufficient enough to be grandiosity
Parallel to my atrocious veracity
I need the treacle poison.
I want to touch your face
As everyone else does
But frost bites in your iron mask
Can I graze the quelled sun
Beneath the facile veneer?
Because as much as I despise you
I want your lethal treacle
To meander in my plagued throat
I need the treacle poison.
Because I am so alone
That I hate people for carousing
Whilst I squander in a soliloquy
With my own loneliness
Now abandoning me
As the dawn rouses at four A.M.
And jealousy notched in
In my solitary confinement
I need the treacle poison
I wanted to cradle a poetry
But I never had the facility
I have never been anywhere,
I have never been anyone;
Please, cut the cord of this soliloquy
Because I can be very cold
To my bleak incertitude
Yes, I do abandon myself
For I need the treacle poison.
poem by Norman Santos
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Sleep
The nights is an opaque curtain
Asleep solemnly before your eyes
Out shadowing the dark terrors
That basks in the chambers of the heart
An emollient and puissant sine
Sundering the obdurate chains
Where you contend to coil
Denser, closer to the knives
Vulnerably, haplessly cloyed and
Shriveled in the fingertips of fear
Raving in the darkness.
Look in your adamant eyes
The surface, taut, is blind
Look with your iron eyes
Where the fathom, gnarled, is sank
And the vision is deluded
Beyond repair, a lucid dream
That vied to breathe with flesh
And walk with saccharine feet
Chained in a klutz defeat
Deliberately misbegotten
Look at the myriad of faces
Sunken in a peremptory vale
Of abortive sorrows' impales
And temporal bliss' tales
And then to your riveted sole
Worn out and shuddering
To give up and to fall
Into this abyss of infinite dreaming
I invite you, come away,
To mend some sleep
And let go of vicissitude
And its impassable clockwork
Close your eyelids and
Feign a separate peace
For you have suffered long
From sleeping awake
Defenestrate your beliefs
Into the garden of lies
And they shall bloom
To flirt with butterflies
Now you're emancipated
From a putrid demise
Trust only the moon
The light in the dark
That reveals it errs
In her phosphorescent skin
Blatant and wanton
Amidst sharp and shrilling
Garrulous buds of dandelions
Whittling her ever more
More than a silver disc
But a mirror in slivers
Never promising bliss
Or perpetuity and consistency
Let her lull you, tame you
In the pedagogy of her heraldry
Waning in form and beauty
In the cradle of her crescent
Desecrate fervently
These golden manacles
Of fastidious ties
Sprawled in the galaxies
Or the sundered parties
Romantic as knives
Shall incinerate in her
Stark silver beam
And these black tears
Will dry out from the streams
That ran hurriedly
From the iron's fiendish grip
They cannot demand on you
Now, sever their cold touch
Of mendaciloquence
Before they make you bow
And submit without defense
Posses the vesper,
Usurp the calm
As you fall asleep
And rejuvenate your
Stained defiance to
False-believing,
Sleep, sleep.
poem by Norman Santos
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Free Flight
Head on down the highway
Across the county line,
Ive had my fill of small town thrills
Gonna leave it all behind.
Free flight, free flight.
Im careless in my loving,
Shameless in my style,
If I get caught by the short n curlies
Ill just hide out for awhile.
Free flight, free flight.
On an on the road goes on
Itll go on forever,
An just the same Ill live my life,
Hell bent for leather.
Free flight, free flight.
Heaven knows its driving me crazy,
Its a feeling inside.
Heaven knows its in my blood
As long as I try, I just cant deny.
Free flight, come tomorrow dawn youll find me gone.
Free flight, make no bones about it, Im moving on.
Free flight, free flight, free flight.
Free flight, free flight, free flight.
Head on down the highway
Suitcase in your hand,
When you get down with your feet on the ground
I know youll understand.
Free flight, free flight.
Heaven knows its driving me crazy,
Its a feeling thats driving me wild.
Heaven knows its in my blood,
Fool if you try, you just cant deny.
Free flight, come tomorrow dawn youll find me gone.
Free flight, make no bones about it, Im moving on.
(solo)
Free flight, free flight, free flight...
song performed by by Whitesnake
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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False Hopes
A causeway of light arched supplely
Into the latencies of frittered days
Where I bargain for death obdurately
Sapping putrefaction placidly to decay
And perish from the unrivaled despondency
I muse the furlough of every passing day
But a causeway of light arched supplely
Suspending the black ribbon's sway
Oppressive condoles are salves of the defeated
And these rived my bones and hauled my soul
Out into the risqué nakedness of light to be diluted
Into a transparency of savage cajoles
For your sincerity lacked consistency, instead,
My vanguard and subterfuge you stole
But oppressive condoles are salves of the defeated
And in your ephemeral graze I still conceded
The obsidian horizon feigned resilience
So I stifle my vessels to capture you ever closer
But the impervious distance was too dense
Inundated with your breath's blasé timber
And so we are splintered like dumb oxen by a fence
Gnawing on the grasses of perpetual Decembers
But the obsidian horizon feigned resilience
Without a moment of transition and encounter
The ubiquitous farce convoluted
As I twisted at the feet of the forlorn
That I have woven for myself from deluded
Hopes of exoneration; emancipation from the mourn
The make believe infinity waned and percolated
To unlatch in my eyes the abysmal void
But the ubiquitous farce convoluted
And I remember your faces and the covenant sworn
poem by Norman Santos
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Pleas of a Claymore II
Have you ever seen a saber?
Took so much beating
In a plethora of derision
As the hands pounded his convictions
Against the feral adversary
Of his stale conqueror,
Lackadaisical and crestfallen
But still fawning in a lash back
To find the elusive direst
Of his tethering fate,
And his silver blood spilled
And scintillated in stellar
Like the mistral tears of a maiden.
And some people esteemed it
Musing in avarice for the clout
That this claymore possessed
Despite of the scarred visage
Or perhaps, because of the incisions
And they would lather the lacquer
Of his chipped and dying blades
To thaw the poignancy
And bend him down to his knees
Rasping upon the stance
Of defensive resistance.
The surrender of a saber
Would stab his own soul
And the hero inside
And his parched tragedies
Would whittle and fritter away
Into the very zenith of cusps
To become a despondent weapon
In the final incarnation of a claymore
But the hands forget
Or sometimes do not care
What the saber was
And seize him in their cradles
Fervently seeking bloodshed
In favor of their legendary conquest.
Have you ever seen a saber?
Malleable with a sole graze
As the hands guided itself
Down his glacial crassness
Reckoning the beatings
In the crevasses of his edges
Ravening upon the triumphs
That the saber gave them
And in spite of the disease
The saber would plead
To be held once again
And take the brunt and blames.
And when the hero bequeaths
The glory of his subsistence
Coming clean and pristine
While the downtrodden friend
Smother in the draping
Of the chrysalis in his scabbard
The claymore would plead
In profound reiteration
To be held once again;
Have you ever heard the hilt of a saber
Call for euthanasia?
poem by Norman Santos
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Spit It Out
(coverdale/galley)
I never knew what a kiss could mean
Until the first time I kissed you,
You took my love in the palm of your hand
An showed me what a woman could do
Now I dont want sugar coated loving
Just silver tongue tenderness,
You gotta give me a certain satisfaction
The kind of love you seal with a kiss
An spit it out, spit it out, spit it out
If you dont like it
Spit it out, spit it out, spit it out
If you dont like it
I can remember, I can recall
When I first set my eyes on you,
Ill never forget the thrill of it all
Dreaming of the things we could do
Baby, you must be crazy,
Fooling with a man like me,
cos I roll my dice with a heart of ice
An make it clear to see
Spit it out, spit it out, spit it out
If you dont like it
Spit it out, spit it out, spit it out
If you dont like it
I never knew what a kiss could mean
til the first time I kissed you,
You took my love in the palm of your hand
An showed me what a woman could do
Your sweet caress an tenderness
Can take the pain away,
The things that you do make a queen out of you
An make me a king for a day
If you dont like it, spit it out
Now I know what your love can do
Ill be hanging round your door,
An Im gonna love you baby,
Ill give you more than you bargained for
Spit it out, spit it out, spit it out
If you dont like it
Spit it out, spit it out, spit it out
If you dont like it
Spit it out, if you dont like it...
song performed by by Whitesnake
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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The Mirror
Wash your face before your faded make-up makes a mark
The mirror will watch over you
Pierrot never comes so pack your face and chase the dark
The mirrors hung up on you
Dont be last, your friends and your reflection
Its all so direction now
Poor harlequin, youre quite an exception
Fay troubadour, on a downer
Gay harlequin, doesnt believe in you
Doesnt believe its true, such a downer.
song performed by by David Bowie
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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An Intellectual Life...
inside this glass world
lives the porcupine
fish
the sea is made of
pure air
everyone is swimming
with the hands and feet of their
minds
one eye sees through another
eye like light piercing a sea of
transparencies and ripples
of doubts are reinvented
it is a deep ocean
imagine a world of porcupine fishes
silence are not knives here
there are no stab wounds on the water
everyone knows how to breathe
without making any sound of rustling leaves
outside this glass world
lies the world of fences and over there are the greener pastures
the fences are high like clouds on the cliffs
and the pastures have no milking cows in fact
it is a jungle without trees
and you will be having a hard time to imagine a
justification why this world is becoming a puzzle
of new languages and reinvented scripts and scenarios
but this is it, this is the way how fists land on chests
how lips design the shape of spits
long ago, they drew ivory towers and disoriented pillars
long ago, they were whistling out of touch tunes
now, there are heads rising from the armpits
feet from abdomens fingers from the anus
and they are talking about dormant diseases that
come out in the open only after your 50th year
out there the mockery is getting louder
the air as colder as men whose blood is removed from them.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Seize the Autumn Mist
Amidst a horizon of sporadic seasons, stood
A wayward gambler of sangfroid optimism
Wreaking of departure in the eyes of an interlude
Cascading with a wintry streak of a prism
A rapine of the grandiosity banishing all subdued
Words that vessels emotions in taut surrealism
The aftermath of golden deluge and sullen drought
Fore the wintry rape and frosted cellars bolt
A beautiful shedding, the mist of copper hair brought
Comported in a poise deeming the sun a harlot
For corrupting the radiance it spun and wrought
Undeserving of abduction; a beautiful fault
Hoping for amends but the more it is changing
The more the season of withering remains mundane
With aloofness of untainted bliss, tethering
A tatterdemalion vagabond in a flee too profane
Erred and flawed hands can't carry the bosom of the writhing
Season of falling a gambler can never abstain
Ephemeral autumn days encumbering perpetual bliss;
Dormant abrasion in a feigned cinched delusion
Should I resign a kiss? Should I deprive the mist
Of autumn yearning to be seized in revulsion?
Ambivalent in complacent hues of your own fist
Little yielding fist, wave your sweetest tides of gravitation.
poem by Norman Santos
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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13: 00
Doors swung open with feigned eloquence
And eyes left ajar from daunted pretense
As time flew back towards the pleasant
Odyssey of your gentle goodnight
And the dark and piercing star-screams
Were heard guffawing and echoing
When the interpolating bliss ceased
With the last painted malady
The penumbra of the waxing moon
Incessantly stropped the brusque fringes
Of her stalemate blight, insinuatingly,
A pall of her emollient jet-black locks
Fell unto the fluorescence of her face
In the stillness of the windless sand
It whispered a riddance, droning,
That the ebbing water palmed
Into a turbid naivety: Good bye.
Your swimming eyes found a moor
To carry yourself in the oceanic morsel
Of a misbegotten yesterday, whilst I
Was caught in the transition of consciousness
The lissome hands of time rat-racing
To catch each other's ornate grip
I was beckoned to sleep
I was surmised to a defeat
We are watching dancing lips
Undulating to the familiar songs
Of farewells and good nights
At 13: 00 - the perfect time
To connive against the lies -
We succumb into what we hated
Into the condescending wings
Of time's soundless flight
Like a connoisseur harlequin
It bent a grin concealed of menacing
And inveigled us to an esplanade
In the ethereal timelessness
That shatters the clockwork;
Wither the blossoming,
Freeze the truant spring,
Desecrate the ripening
When I reimbursed what I have thrived:
A gathering of imperial plights
Your cloyed grace departed the tableau
And for all that was misconstrued,
And for all these endeavoring you abandoned
I still ask myself every 13 o'clock:
Where are you, felled seraphim?
poem by Norman Santos
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Across
I turn the page of the day,
writing what I'm told
by the motion of your eyelashes.
I enter you,
the truthfulness of the dark.
I want proofs of darkness, want
to drink the black wine:
take my eyes and crush them.
A drop of night
on your breast's tip:
mysteries of the carnation.
Closing my eyes
I open them inside your eyes.
Always awake
on its garnet bed:
your wet tongue.
There are fountains
in the garden of your veins.
With a mask of blood
I cross your thoughts blankly:
amnesia guides me
to the other side of life.
poem by Octavio Paz
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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One Man Bandwagon of Harlequinade
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 poles
Could be more farcical than not one iota at all?
For in the surly leaf of the final page the verity basks
In a prissy repose apt for a surreptitious usurper
That I am, after all, a harlequin guzzled by a mask
Of a crystal ball, reflecting and deflecting, to pilfer
The unnamed mirth in every drooping environs
Siphoned by the reeling exigency of self deception
Ebullience is ephemeral only for the reason that
Death is a stealthy phantom, immortal in the ethereal
Grounds of a grotesque carnival ensconced in a hat
That I wore to subsist with the grotesque quintessential
Hamlet, teeming with a surfeit latticing fangs of beasts
And an infinitesimal number of vicarious pessimists
Truth is, I lose myself in this insuperable loquaciousness
As I grope for what I desire and how the death is casted
Forlorn as a reticent lion's ought to be, I do behest
And plea for a hand to rise in the sea of the oppressed
Maudlin that I am; I kneel every night to haggle for my craving
To be in the bassinet of lovely people, or to efface this aspiring
The thought of your pity smothers me and, in my gaunt nakedness,
I know well that I deserve it, earned it, for I am truly devoured,
Like a hapless gazelle gnashed by a tiger, by vicious loneliness
That I inexorably severed from these golden chains, a melancholic discord
I'm ailed and dead-beaten from riling, from cloying a maneuver
And in the muted times of its rapine, I, alone, mournfully flounder
I, alone, wallowed into the graves of my thousand deaths
In mausoleums stalled in the quagmire of my chambers
Igniting the wick in my bloodshot eyes and slathering tourniquets
To dab the wounds to rebuild the skyscrapers you love to slander
So that in this parceled desolation I can become a writer
And assert my existence in this laconically fiendish winter
I'll bleed again before the eulogy of this poem tingle the schmaltz air
And reiterate my cacophonous half-breathing quintessence:
I am bleakly alone and I cannot stand it, sometimes I do not care
But it's only a sedating stratagem; I want to be with acquaintances
Whom I've seen clearly and held in the stark pitch blackness
And who have perceived the one man bandwagon inside the forlornness.
poem by Norman Santos
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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The Jepoardy
My stride was taciturn
like the voice supressed
behind these clenched teeth
until I found your monument
gazing like an astute gargoyle
on a ponderous musing;
I washed my face with shame
and utter a cacophony
You stole my subterfuges
like how the night pilfers
the seething of my eenui;
I surrender everything
upon your austere relvance
most grandiloquently painted
on these perpetual gray mornings
But the road took slurs
and like a stammering promise
it was opressed by veracity;
the nefarious truth bludgeons us
to the end of our tethers
with its vise like vigor and filth
Now I wallow in this quagmire
trying to hide away from you,
trying to run away from me,
but I always trample to find you -
hands in akimbo, eyes down casted
upon my groveling pride and
my embarassed defenses
The taste of your soul is a poison -
a dungeon I carry amongst
the tangled convictions inside
this wearing skin and bones -
a babel of virulent destruction
that keeps me breathing and alive
in this sublime jeopardy
poem by Norman Santos
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Spit It Out
If theres rage inside you so you cannot think
Spit it out
If you get so angry that you cannot speak
Spit it out
Talk to him or her or it
And tell them where they can put it
Spit it out, spit it out
You got to talk to him or her or it
And take aim with your mouth and spit
Spit it out, spit it out
If you get worked over at your job
Spit it out
If a taxi almost runs you down
Spit it out
You got to take aim with your mouth and speak
And give it to them right between the teeth
Spit it out, spit it out
Talk to him or her or it
And take aim with your mouth and spit
Spit it out, spit it out
Spit it out
Hey, hey, hey
If youre patient and you have the time
Spit it out
Wait till theyre on the decline
Spit it out
The chinese say you meet the hard with the soft
The yin with the yang, the down with the up, oh
Spit it out, spit it out
You got to grab that dumb he, she or it
And give it to them right between the teeth
Spit it out, spit it out
Spit it out, babe, spit it out
Hey
song performed by by Lou Reed
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Braille
Pray tell, my sleepless child
Without your name, who are you?
Does the color of your skin,
The sly motions of your lips,
Or the canopies underneath
Your sweeping eyelashes
Tell you about your secrets?
The tabularazas in our open palms
Shear the exhumed constitutions
With the blandness of nothingness
Because we are nothing
But blotted pages
And our blood is the ink,
Our contending is the pressing
Of the angrily hissing pen.
Let me take your hand
Into the frowning crevasses
And the pockmarks that
Slanders your skin
Like salient stones
For the dead man,
Slither into these roads
And understand
That we are made
Of bruises and scars
Now let me guide you
Underneath my shirt
Closer to the pounding
Of the harried chest
Inside this cage
Of feral yearning—
A yearning that is
Dangerous
The blue rivers that
Opposed the bloody ripples
Sprang from a chamber:
A pantheon of screams
That was unfettered from
Their vivid dreams
Pray tell, my ignorant child,
Now that you have
Traversed the untaken roads
Will you tell me why
It is so painstaking
To look inside ourselves?
Pray tell, blind soul,
Amongst the pointing fingers
Who can read
This mendacious braille.
poem by Norman Santos
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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