1: From the Void

A rift in the bones ached
To be amongst the quakes
Of the forest's riddling dance
As I sink in fathoms futilely
Gulping ounces of buoyancy,
Aloof in the inert stance,
Siphoned of sporadic chances,
Slurring in the slopes of darkness,
Chagrined in the tranquil motion,
Lost in the stability of perpetual lost:
This malign cycle is a serpent
Chasing its own tail,
Poisoning its own cure.

The pedagogy of the night
Lies in the pitch black, point blank
Despondence buried in the sighs
In the salient grave in these eyes
Imagine the fathoms to brave
To find my core rocking slowly
Assuaging the moribund sways
Of the pendulums and hooks
That slivered the atmosphere
To sequester my soul
From my body
And from yours

And they called this place
Void.

poem by Norman Santos
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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