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Void and Untitled

Asleep from November ten
To November eleven,
I dreamt of being alive.
A sunset can extend as far
As eternity without you
Your absence in your presence,
Your presence in your absence
The transatlantic distance:
One heartbeat away
So I faded behind
Your taciturn pace,
Your beautiful face
And I watch you grew brighter
Like an imploding sun
Garish light, I know this
Is but another guise
Egoistic barricade, I know this
Is how you sully yourself
So I gave up with your game
You know my faith, why test?
You never gain, we never gain,
Why protest?
And I found a lonely soul
In a glass receptacle
He had the eyes of a child
And I felt found
We gulped and quaffed
Faster than your pacing steps
In my endeavor to find euphoria,
I stumbled and threw it up
On my sleeves, ‘twas putrid!
But then he told me
That it's all right
And I knew it was, for
It was incomparable to our pains
I turned everything over
And gave myself once more
This time to a boy
Who doesn't care to be my brother
A best friend, rather,
With an unsolicited invitation
And he gave himself away
So, I let it all slip off,
With my voice to crack
And the tears to hit the kirtle
I fumbled but vindication
Was in a mirror in front of me;
Windsor.

I have no home—
A wayward soul
And I decided to
Contend with the night
To find myself a place,
My place, and he vied for it
I felt poignancy creeping
Treacherously: I don't want pity,
But I can spare it for this infinity
Like an orphan, a stranger
In their grand realms
His kin spared a night for acceptance.
We watched the reel came to life;
(500 days of summer)
And repulse, and curse,
And sully ourselves to little deaths
We were watching colder fountains
Ourselves in its reflection
And our summer frays.
I struggled for a piece of calm
As he lay there pensively asleep
And you, you loom over me
Forgive me, for I don't have guts
Spare me, for I don't want guilt
I had to tell you for you had taught me
What and how a lion ought to be.
I talked to your image
Pinned in the ceiling
I've told you how I recovered
From a haunting memory
And, may be, those words
Are still my own
And as how you've taught me,
I've told you;
That I love you and I will do
Then you grabbed me by
My crusting arms
And I hauled my hefty duffel bag
My shoulders ached
And colorized with bruise
I've dared asked: where to?
And you said without turning back:
Somewhere where we can run.
Before my shoulders died,
They have lived to find
An ebullient lantern festival
You held one in your hand
And I gauchely placed
My sweaty palms beneath yours
I spoke; Let's watch it burn
Brighter and brighter
And hotter and hotter,
And swell with hope
But it will be beautiful,
Awfully beautiful
That it will take flight
And it will be grand
In the night sky
Before it fades away
But we would know,
It will be grand.
A cold rivulet tricked down
My gelid bloodshot eyes
To wake up in front
Of my breakfast;
A spoonful of:
The more things seem to change
The more they stay the same,
A platter of:
Too close but far away,
A banquet of:
One day, I can say your name again.
Autumn, false-hope, false vindication;
Shiela.

poem by Norman Santos
Added by Poetry Lover
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