Sentinel
I plucked the brambles
Of the turnpike gates
And stashed them somewhere
Impermeable, deeper
Than any vision
Can ever scamper
And every truancy,
Every missed targets,
Every hapless sighs;
Compensating the ulcer
Of the dying times
Will taut the corona
Swathing my treacherous
Barricades and boring
A myriad of openings
With the grandiose of
A portmanteaux
Where vim would
Seep out eagerly
Rolling a red carpet
For the Trojan Horse's entrée
To my sentinel, my graveyard.
poem by Norman Santos
Added by Poetry Lover
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