Macabre In Breaths

Such forlorn hope
Falls in the red soil
With the crumbs of your
Porcelains, gnawing with
The tautly grinding maw
The disdain and angst
Molding more disdain
In this nihilistic scarcity
Of waters to tread
The filth glistened
In the crimson drought
Like a puked bile
Reminiscent of the shattered
Face of oblivious thrills
The serrated silence
In holding breaths
Underwater,
Under abeyance
A purveyance
For subsistence.

poem by Norman Santos
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!