Never Too Distant
Basking the dithering umbra
of an endless, moonless
void oceanic night
where the clockwork caught tremors
with terse ebb and flow
before it defiantly sojourns
in a vertical line ensconced
in the abysmal marrows of depth,
I became the caper, and the ruse
is the stillness of the vesper
I undulated through
the most convoluted slopes
never too distant from
the diamond-tethers
riveting me in the manifold
phases of this empty night
Because in this cobwebbed room
your shadows remained prancing
even when the soiree ended
with the midnight toast
brewed with oblivion
And here I wager with solitude
contending for your echolalia's decadence
because if I leave and follow
these phantom corridors
of your generous affliction
rue will bereave the inflection
and the night would start to pass
like an inclement weather -
uncommitted thunderstorms
leaving a futile basin
to buoy the caustic veracity
And to live in this illusion
is an auspicious demise -
A deadlock where
your hands behold the bolts
piqued with the undying
phantoms of your final stride
Because the hunters astride
the frangibility of sleep
sloshes their scythe
for broken souls
And this brunt
between the fangs of death
makes me feel more alive
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poem by Norman Santos
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