A Wrinkle in the Horizon
These skyscrapers,
These houses fastened together,
Heads fondling each other
Pawned in a gamble of hearts
Draped in deep scathes of black;
Impedes and obstructs the beautiful haze
Of the vapory gloaming and destructs
The unrestricted chortles and whimpers
This town is a spiraling tragedy
Wielded by lachrymose heroes
Defeated and outnumbered by
The myriad of phantoms of the past
No, this place, drastically wallows
With or without you and your
Inconsistencies, this is not an anchorage
Of our convicted allibies,
And the susurrations behind the door
Should learn to knock knuckles
Speaking not only of selected names
This place is hell aborted
To let the flames char the veneer
Of our callous shallowness
If you can only permit it
To pour the oceans
In the fathoms
Of your exiguity
No chance of expostulating
This malignant disease
Today, in the scorches of summer
I resuscitate my subterfuge
Only for a day, a lifetime
For the filth had cradled
At the back of my neck
Now I can only see the floor
Where footsteps wander
Knowingly and not, astray
And my horizon was obstructed
By inclement vandalisms
No, I won't smoke conformity
My chest is sealed in the laments
With stitches and chains
With no chances
For revenge.
poem by Norman Santos
Added by Poetry Lover
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