White Noises

Amidst the drumming noise,
I lambasted to no avail
but there was nothing
but the lifted wind listening

My thoughts danced burning,
vertiginously suspended
upon the gilded coldness
and all these vociferous cries
are quelled by its own farce

The violins played scathingly
attempting to dub an elegy
for all the writhed nights
and all the sharp lights
that does not mean anything

But you still remained
the note, the echo -
the memory of the conscience
upon every pillaged morrow

poem by Norman Santos
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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