Exhuming The Bones Of Naivety
I was another orphan
from the gravid collections
cloyed by jealousy,
drifting past the irony
I watched it dance -
the usurped splendor
once basked in the innocent eyes -
with the waning dust motes
with a vehemence of a sleeper
Felled from the platoon,
unrifled and guised with a
perfunctory smile,
hiding amidst the enviable insularity
of the rain's iron curtains
complacence is my confidant
my citadel against
my own destructive measures
And when the crooked hands
of the clock unsheathed
its vengeful fusillade
not a shadow flailed,
not a soul squandered,
everything was as still
as an obsidian memory
as if the wanton silence speaks
a mirror of harangue
against the enemy inside
the eyes of naivety.
poem by Norman Santos
Added by Poetry Lover
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