A Poet Not

Hello Stranger,
Have you read my endeavors?
Have you dissected the tassels
of my ornate tapestry
of grief, of shabby bliss?
Because underneath
the obsidian armour of
these eloquent words
is a door left ajar
for someone to penetrate
my shy impenetrable curtains

Dear Stranger,
I am no one and
I have never been important;
I am nobody's son,
no proud homeland,
not a good comrade,
not an idyllic beau,
not a simple soul,
my esoteric penchant
for a profound quintessence
is a casualty
glaring with a neon sign

But would you be generous
to let me covet the banner
of a poet - manqué or laureate?

Would you not take
a poet for granted and peer
behind the eloquently tossed
epistles and paroxysmal rhymes?

Would you be parsimonious
of the serrated veracity
that my arcane tirade
is defunct of grandiosity?

Would you cure
me egoistic affliction
slowly and quickly abating
to the void of everything?

Because if am no one,
not even a poet in your
simple and delicate tableau
then I have always been
futilely no one
then please neglect
the spurious laments
of this poet.

poem by Norman Santos
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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