Seeking My Place

Amidst late dawns and early dusks
My hollow limbs stood abrading wounds
Samson interceding the pillars of
Collapsing strands of tidal force
A knight, a king, a well intentioned man
My pose was and is insignificant for
The tale you reap needs not one
Of the hero that I have become
Harbinger of supple comfort that
Caressed a desperate and somnolent heart
Who died a thousand in her own estoque
Casted a phantom hero, an opiate resolve
The offering basked coiled in the clasped ears
Of the heartless damsel holding crystal tears
And when I lost my part in the deadlock tale
I would lay myself in a table of flames
A pyre atop the winter hill
Undeserving of any sympathy
I shall find a bed in a winter hill.

poem by Norman Santos
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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