Angels and Demons

They rained in white and black so pitch
That the gray sank into the gossamer pallor
Masking the daunted hope in apathy
And in their stringing songs, I move and stifle

The machinations of these sexless beasts
Drowsed my insensate senility
And as they jabbed their immaculate wings
I sculled my way in a ponderous vertigo

They burned a white flame unsteadily
In the very contempt of my viscera
Haplessly played in their scripts
I probed for an astray alleyway
Where a mundane gesture
Can be a melancholic ending

In the vindictive ensnare of fire
The struggle of faith was within
And the clouds paved away, stripping down
The skies in a risqué invitation
I saluted with a warm cordial slander
But the cynic repose hit a solid fortification
Soundlessly without recoil

I pray to the gods of forlorn, I begged
At the foot of their cobwebbed banquets
That I may not be persuaded,
And to pride
I strangled my wagering life,
To pride
I hauled a destructive wrath
And molded a taciturn love
To pride,
I castrated my angels and demons

And when their circling stride faded
From the firmament of my obstreperous vision
There was none left, but denial
To disappointments and regrets.

poem by Norman Santos
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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