Oblivion

In your empty cellar hangs
a pregnant silver disk,
its penumbral enthralls riveted
in your empty stares and
carousing with your musing

In those void pits unspool
the propiniquity of an early sunset
and the onset of a late goodnight,
the clandestine distance between
the long mourning and
the joviant rebirth of time

And in this thin lace where
the lights and shadows waltz,
I stumble upon the frontier
of the rational space of time;
fragmented in states outside
the pursuit of the silent horizon

poem by Norman Santos
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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