For The Nameless Bard
Your silence is a shrill cry
traversing the alley of edifices
stalled within the shadows
solely painted for your furlough
The epistles that bewilders the night
and the riposte that brawled in back alleys
coiled in an inert cacophony
and the populace remained asleep
without the pall of your sagacity
Soon shall I find your silhouette
a misfit in the familiar places where
you casted a shadow that remained riveted
toppling with the monuments
of your conquered charades
unmaking you a constant unreality
You have waned underneath the moon
and the waxing horn of its harlequinade
along with the asylum of your cavernous heart,
and the tears that ran your metal pipes
no longer croons in the silence of the night
Slowly you are subdued and daubed
by the myriad moths girdled by a lamppost -
A hound barked, a vehicle revved mad,
a drunk man roared, a canary sang,
but your salient, sapient revulsion
remained silent and gone
I lit a cigarette and succumbed to its veil
plotting subterfuges incase
I hear your laconic footsteps return,
your florid lips relearn a song,
and I cajole for the accident to collide
selfishly hungry for your waned light
I starve in oblivion, swallowing daggers
that I incessantly honed whilst
the minutiae yellow quasars spoke
their scintillating whispers to me;
that the war you consigned yourself into
found the key for the adamantine doors
and your laments turned to odes,
your odes morphed into intimate privacy
until you dissipated form the dark nooks
to bask in your separate concord
But I shall remember you
in your superfluity and brazen soliloquy
like an owl behind the gloomy trees -
an indomitable sentry to reckon,
and I shall sing of you without a name
a little degree out of phase
whilst your notes gyrated elsewhere
because your shadows are still made
in these modest places I conquered.
poem by Norman Santos
Added by Poetry Lover
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