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The Chased

The road slithered like a forked tongue
Fueled by loathe and love unabashedly
The gust blew eternally to wallow dusts
That sleeps soundly and invited subtly
Like a red lasso in this dark limbo
So I succumb into it; I am ephemeral!

I chase the incisive gliding of the sun
And mangled through the unbreakable darkness
But it is I who shatter and tear in the impasse
Floundering without directions in a sea
Where the lost musing was devoured
And for all the reasoning and unreasoning
The relentless and callow machinations
That built a life of daunted convictions
And mundane propositions, corrupted
What grounds have you not altered
With your pliant hands? What road is left
Untouched by the sap of hope, of life?

Have I not let you be? The road chases me
And my escape cycled into a fatal circle
Where guilt sew forever, where holes unclose
To accommodate deadly words

The gauche stomping resounded voices
And the roofless world lamented along
And I ran futilely, I endeavored to safety;
I ran, with a withered heart
I ran, with a wretched heart,
I ran, with a tired heart,
I ran away from a perfidious heart.

I coiled for death tonight as my legs ached
And shriveled from the despondent chance
And to death I salute and raise the glass
For in its mausoleum I may find peace
Or sliver asunder at least.

poem by Norman Santos
Added by Poetry Lover
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