Metaphors
Your hills poised with intimate enigma -
A looming sphinx counting riddles
that remains unwritten, unspoken
and it can only ardently neglect
the ululations of the mountain bison
or the petulant howling wind-cuts
proposed by vagrant eagles
festering your sun's golden horns
because yonder the taut distance
your cerulean sea slumbers soundly
placid with her sober serenades -
A desolation more saccharine as
a lost nymph's silent enthralls
and the florid falsettos from your
sharp beliefs and frail constitutions
and the yearning sighs of your lips
can only touch her soft breaths
riding her foamy waves, while you
measure her immensity and
undo the multitude of niceties
revolving with the dusts of time
Thus, matters not your prolix eyes
upon the fastidious reckons
and futile will be the endeavor
when the saline wind picks up
and spread the ether flames
on the cradles of your forlorn forest,
You are but a sanguine tale
riveted in amicably fictive lines
zithering a red string in my mind
to make believe your obsequious unreality
that I have always pried behind
your bulwark barricades of pride
hoping to seize the lost melody
the sea once sang to me -
the marigold's tinkering when she
bows before the wind's whispers -
and even your avalanche of
mellifluous promises and white lies
My mouth full of rain and fire,
my eyes replaced by a quagmire
fastening every metaphors
together in ethereal times
because this is where we are
or where we were, at least.
poem by Norman Santos
Added by Poetry Lover
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