Daze Of The Moiré Waves

Wave after wave, gust after gust
The phantoms that lurks and haunts
In this sea of treacherous hands
Waving for a slow dance, for riddance
Had their clandestine machinations
That endlessly rubbed sand into sand
Until they are finer than their whistling
And whiter than their demented dreams,
And surged tides after hungry tides
Devouring the clambering suppurations
That rivaled the pitch fathoms to rise
Only to dissipate in the endless toppling
And become tiny bubbles of forgetting

The phosphorescent shore and its descant
That fringes the lonely sea and her haze
Calls gust after gust, wave after wave
And with this drought I held in my heart
Abandoned by the arsenal of flames
The daze of the perfidious sea calls upon
My misbegotten misery, and in her ruse
That will devour my restricted bawl,
My anguished wails, and my groveling hopes
I stared endlessly resisting submission

But in this breadth of irrational obduracy
I have already drowned and the chance
Remained lurking upon the stark shore
Without leaving footprints to show
That the daze of the moiré waves
Had succumbed my stipulations.

poem by Norman Santos
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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