Sometimes, I

Sometimes I lean on sunsets
like a mildew perched
upon a serrated grass
deadlocked in an eternal frame
catching fire balls
to my conflagrations

Sometimes I go astray
into your color-contrasting skies
like a familiar kite
unfettered from the sculls
of the winds generosity
but I never sojourn
to corrupt its beauty

Sometimes I set fire
unto your hapless downpour,
and sometimes I burn
with your gilded sweat
and succinct wisdom
ardently begotten,
flummoxed quintessence

Sometimes the mausoleum
holds the bones
and sometimes the bones
holds a mausoleum
and the home
dreams of remorse

Sometimes it feels
like the same old hole:
a bottomless pit
but on the rifts
is a sliver of hope -
a bullet electrifying
the rattles on our bones

Sometimes it is a lie,
our adamant departures
but if it is the verity
upon this idiosyncrasy:
If you have truly gone
before I left the room
then I am bedazzled by hope.

poem by Norman Santos
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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