Burning Waltz

The echoing stupor
trailing the shotgun clout -
a shrilling lament
tearing the filaments apart
in this madhouse dance
among the flames
succumbing to the hysteria
jazzy hands played
the scherzo is a fountain
pouring upwards
from my shickered eyes

A silent gargoyle
watching a caryatid
peal an enigmatic laugh -
an enthralling silence
with a vertiginous pull
girdling the aeons
that flummoxed before
the wan in her eyes
still and quiet
golden as gold
I have become your poise
Have I been dazed
by watching mirrors
become the architect
of sullen bliss?

Legless, I floundered through
the downtrodden path
in an erratic sway
and inebriated rhythm
where streetlamps quell
their faintly tongues
so the subtle hue
of darkness can invite
the weary dreams
to lull and evocate
a burning waltz
to a sedating slumber
an oblivion against
the superfluity of your letters
and terse vengeance -
still, I danced
like my legs knew nothing
but your melody.

poem by Norman Santos
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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