As I
As I battle out the austere torsions of the horizon
Plying to shove the gossamer sun to set
Into the insolent demise resting on his nest;
As I dispense the divergence of the liaison
Raveling a prostrate retroactive protraction
Musing on the gloaming before it dawns;
As I subtly winnow the skirts of this curtain
A prolix camouflage to interminable impasse
Shifting fractions and equations to resume this vying;
As I exonerate the black birds perched on the fringes
And obliterate the spiteful thaw of waxen houses
Tumbling a speck to the dead of the sapid vesper;
As the body touch the soul, like a hand in glove
Quelling the warmth and seething the frost
Bereaving the vehement possibility of consummation;
As I haggle in the narrow punctures of this gnarl
Breathing underwater for a halcyon squandering
Becoming the streaks of the abundant malingering;
As I muse upon a truant aubade of distant stars
Fluttering innocuously with the scythe's of time
Bickering the scorching venom of the virulent blood;
I am becoming the beckons of untracked oblivion
That your misty vision could not touch, not seize,
The very interpolating creaks of the voids and pits;
I am flinging everything all over in a lost warfare
For a manic, a marionette tangled on its own string
Attached to vulnerable pegs of gravitated swings.
poem by Norman Santos
Added by Poetry Lover
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