Escalator
It was one of those bountiful days
Where a minuscule latency of silence
Could mean the void of everything;
The toppling of the fortress' pillars,
The infringement of the rosary beads,
The rapine of the cheapest hope
That you had found in someone else's pocket,
The kiss of a dying cigarette bud,
Or the burning end of the cigarette bud,
The last page of a novel and its woebegone demise,
Or the solitariness amidst the buckling jovial nights
It was one of those plundering days,
When I can see the violent waves
Palming the swaying bay, seizing the dock
Beating endlessly the benumbed shores
And I see it amongst the swarming populace,
In the slow hands of the hasty clock,
In the precarious streets and highways,
Even in the lull of classroom deliberations,
And my throat smothers with a torrid
Sensation from the cleaving caveat;
The arrival of the night of thieves
In superfluous arms clambering
From the insipidness of the air
Coiled in a snake's repose, geared up to strike
And pilfer the lustful shards of infinity
In my translucent veins and replace it
With the stale venom of impasse
And it was one of those rueful days,
Where I would crawl with the shuddering
And I slam the drift to be drawn to the corner
Of a sublime (and feigned) escalation
Where the seraphs unfold their wings
And the cherubs stifled blathering
And repress the things jabbing my ribs
By pressing all the buttons of the escalator
And delaying the setting of the moon,
And the pluvial toll of the scorching rain,
And defeat the rancid alcohol limit
For I am a bulimic drinker!
Quaffing the virulent pool of ecstasy!
And it was one of those days,
Where the vying would have to pinch respite
For the nights could no longer expand
And the chorus of the carousels sojourn
When the feigned lacquer smile bends
Then I shall halt my breathing and swallow
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poem by Norman Santos
Added by Poetry Lover
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