The Bassinet
Amidst the numberless aplomb soughs
Of these gaunt trees' deciduous
And supercilious burlesque show
I don myself with pertinacious
Diffidence to a grin or moue
Clad only with apathy for my bruise
And torment for every woe
The only way I can call truce
I watched the sly sky watchers
Chime the bells of their depleted shells
But stashed their docile tinkers
With the astray echoes in the wells
Daunted to be inflected with slanders
Shrunk within their own hells
A cellar of solitude, a visceral chamber
Where they lock themselves to fiddle
Are we all betrothed to the starless sky?
Or are we one with the dark clouds
Curtaining the firmament in a wry?
Of our adamant vision and silence aloud
Are we chagrined from what we descry
Behind the butterfly paced clouds?
Because the darkness is in great ply
To lust us, their favorite crowd
Shear these turgid canopies
Of your self-incarceration
To find the void serendipity
Wrought by your imposed convictions
And the impassable and ineffable potency
Of the lambent veer in your emancipation
In these bassinet of contained mêlée
We drive our own abolition
poem by Norman Santos
Added by Poetry Lover
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