The Ubiquitous Quagmire
Submerged in this quagmire
where only seraphs dare tread,
I struggled without a pursuit
amongst capricious winds
The floor is of flimsy mud
where every lambent step sank,
the tarmac solders the flesh,
the howling wind slices wantonly
and all belying conflagrations present
themselves in sartorial grandiose
in pallid hues of winter
But all these ailing evisceration
in the flesh and bones is engulfed
by a more sublime suffering
as you perpetually reside
incarcerated in the chasms
of my tatterdemalion soul
How do I emerge undefeated
in this cellar of vengeful labyrinths
when I have lost all meaning
and abided to all hoping?
poem by Norman Santos
Added by Poetry Lover
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