A Sonnet to My Constant Inconsistent Nostalgia

I swoon every day and night with a subtle wile
Scraping the groveling threshold in a whittle
Until I wake upon a lifelong baleful yearning
With my head buoyed and rested upon a prissy garrison
Gravely wrought with memories, now austerely vile
From deluded niceties and eroded delusions all scathingly brittle
That pawned a constant labyrinthine of inclement struggling
Soldering my hostile bed with subdued treason
Of inconsistent nostalgia, like faltering stairs with no banister
Augmenting slivered hopes and tottering chances
And parceling the tatterdemalion knight from his feigned facet
Yet I will endure and follow the hollow water
Beneath this afflicted cellar of plummeting lances
With all that's left, my veins would serve the faucet.

poem by Norman Santos
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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