Behind Your Calculations
Your svelte hands
zithers the abacus
that calculates
your reluctant fandango
like how it played
the harp
in the nights
where the pebbles
are sharp jewels
And the dexterity
of your tumbling specks
of gaiety
is a regal piece
of oblivion
Your summer sky
hailed a silver gilt
in somersaulting rifts
of the sun's corolla
And underneath
this impeccable
façade of cordiality
is a clandestine
volition,
like shards
of porcelains
roused from a wound -
A nurtured
compulsion
or, perhaps
repulsion
Is this why
you pawned the plumage
and its eloquent stride
for the symmetry
of reality?
Your forfeited simplicity
is a prolix riddle
under the myriad
colors of a mirage
and those
with poor visions
will never encompass
through your promises
and its drifting
haze
The pollens on your face
always blossomed
but your roots
are gnarled
Too tired
from its stoic poise
yearning to bend
backwards
past the irony
of the stagnant trees
swaying away
from the milieu
and maybe find
the effervescent eyes
watching you glide
into the waters
towards the dusk
Your postcard smile
cuts like a paper cut
and mends
like a lithe soldering
saddling the evocative
back into
the flailing reel
And I implore
for your subterfuge
stashed in the veins
with all
the browning pages
of your tales
and poetry
so we can slur
the sharp
constraints to lull.
poem by Norman Santos
Added by Poetry Lover
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