Not So Grand Escapade

Basking in the mirth
Buckling with the dearth
Chances of exoneration
In consummate beguilement
I sail with oars heftier
Than the anchors pummeling
The slumbering trepidation
In the red sea of despair
Sculling like a vertigo
Inveigling the sirens
To drown in the whirlpool
Of rose-wine inebriation

As I rummage for answers
And succor for an alliance
Toes vying for escapade
And chocking in the gilded rope
Knotted in the lofty gallows
I tripped in the enemy lines—
That close, still asphyxiating
And tangled like the cobwebs
In my empty heart, pilfered of map

Slowly in this gambling wile
I am losing myself downhill
Filleting and skinning to bipolarity
I am becoming what I dread
And what I dread comes closer;
Closer than the sun's graze
To what I breath for subsistence.

Basking, buckling, vying and choking.

poem by Norman Santos
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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