L'e Esprit De L'esclair
Basking into the shadows
That loomed like pillars
Raising the canopies high
Making room for innuendos
While the feet sank into the sand
With their gilded smiles glistening
You are an impenetrable mirror house
Where the clocks cannot croon
Neither halt nor pant, in askance
Rummaging to topple and unfurl
The naked terrain of conflagration
Spewing thin films of smokescreen
As walls to build an empiric wall
And cradle the ingredients of reveries
Such auspicious mendaciloquence, yet
Abatement buried its fangs deep
To inject the insidious venom to seethe
And devour the endeavor completely
Into the void belly of the vast galaxy
And as they leave without opening
Your adamantine gates nor closing
You sulk, plummeting into the fathoms
A subtle castle drowning hastily
Into the quicksand that you brew
Whilst tacit words pirouetted
Winnowing the emollient clouds
Like the danseuse sun and charring
The eloquently woven ties
No one pries, entangled in salient
Vies of lies and you die a trifle
Suffice enough to crash a city
Made of gambling cards
The adversity is in the shabby cot
Stinging like bed mites, swooning
The undaunted times of disquiet
In your slumber— a demon without
Prongs or trident forks, a hue
In the visage of preempted rues
Clacking its fastidious heels with
The spilled vision of a sentinel
That you failed to build, hence
Failed to smother and keep, whilst
The artillery shrill gallantly
Of the home that wanders leisurely
A caravan you cannot keep up with
For your quavering malaises needs
A mooring point, a peg, gravity
That stays when all else linger
Far from the swelling lips
Of the omnipresent pit.
poem by Norman Santos
Added by Poetry Lover
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