The Immolation
The rotund sun slyly coveted
His diadem of light and warmth
Yonder the gnawing jagged teeth
Of these greedy mountain passes
And the days stretched without
The fire ball hung above the clouds
Of ignorance, innocence, malignance
So I squandered my gambling and
Gave up haggling with the King
I knelt before the oblivious sky
Scraping my bloodless knees
In the hoarse and mordant skin
Of the thinning ice beneath
Pleading for my immolation
So I can transcend in liberation
To the land of the phantoms
The oppression to be caught
In a reedy ensnare of vagary
Underneath jealousy and abhorrence
A labyrinth of flustered identity
Is a death far more excruciating
From the carnal conflagration
It is a shackle of lightning impaling
And lashing to the frozen core
A death that will live on, bleed on
In the echoes of this immolation
"Who am I to you, lovely people?
I cannot see myself in those big
And once sincere doe-eyes.
I was yours, not just an accessory
Of what you can encompass
From each other's covenant.
But the tides washed away
My footprints on your shores
Because you walked on them
For they were your chalcedony,
And your tides, and your ebbs,
Your sea, your coveted jealousy.
Your waters heaved me too close
Then shoved me too far away
With your clashing demands
And a whirlpool of obfuscation.
It took its toll in my harried eyes
Because I am not a saint nor a god
I am just a comrade, and a misbegotten
Catalyst of a storm that shall fan
And hone your arduous appetite
For each other's somber ties.
[...] Read more
poem by Norman Santos
Added by Poetry Lover
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