An Invitation Back to the Vineyard
Forever was the vesper's smile
Like in a nightmare's mist
An eerie breathing hiss
A servile guise striding along
The strife to escalate living
Throttling the abeyance of breath
With the red hands of gaiety
But the vineyard had no eyes
To witness this profound debauchery
So the trample cat-walked leisurely
Amidst the garden's cloak, I
Reckon with these ancient eyes
The dark that loiters in ubiquity
Under the nubile and florid light
Of the moon's chaste flourishing
Brewing the concoction of
A rose-wine dance of fire
And the whiffs of haughty ivy
Lost in the ghastly mangrove
My vision in an agog pirouette
And in this dour soliloquy stood
A sentry warding off the caterwauls
Endeavoring to disentangle from
The yards' saccharine and agonizing grope
A fiendish comrade that never abandons
Until I moseyed farther from the yard
Where the roots are buried at my feet,
The vines of eloquent wisps are spangling
Like lynches under the moonbeam
In a knot of vehement condensing,
The redolence is preposterously resilient
In a loop of melancholic bitter-sweetness;
Tongue in cheek: steadfast yet flimsy
Cobwebs drifted with an insidious sheen
Tranquilizing the lamp with shrills of fear
But this sentry fire I had held like my skin
That drove the shadows of the vineyard
Back into the cradle, the valley of dying stars
Spits scorches to the cognizance and fraternity
Of the shackles that tethered me here
In this feigned state of inebriation
And splintered me from the vineyard
Where my bones bloomed in desiccation,
Closer and closer, the vineyard closes in
Safe and sound from the horrors
Of the vineyard's myths and lore
The echoes of the cellar, the chateau;
The mooring point of the topple,
The ceiling of vertical trance, and
The pillars, the constitutions,
The home, the shadow, the genesis
And the wine that fills the goblet,
Without my misery, I subsist
In this monopolized purveyance,
In this spinning roulette tryst
But I am rather empty
And now I fear the lack of fear
The distance from the nights
That haunts the grotesque vineyard
Now, I linger with the taste of death
Sauntering in the contours of my tongue
Futilely waiting for the invitation
Back to my crimson deluged walls
And sweet and sour trickled floor
Because home is where I sprouted
My roots and stretched my vines
Tangling with angst and agony
Still, this is where I should putrefy
In the vineyard of dreams on fire
poem by Norman Santos
Added by Poetry Lover
Comment! | Vote! | Copy!
No comments until now.