To The Kingmakers
A thousand and almost a hundred days in a quicksand
Wavering in constant dithers of your mirage
We subconsciously pulled different directions
As you bask into your floridly tousled lives
I lurked behind the curtains of our allegiance
Drinking your blood crumbling from the banquet
Of a not so subtly profound carousal:
A vortex of your meshed grandiosity
Like a stalactite building fragments of delusions
And gorging upon the sparks of your constellations
I lay there silently vying and scavenging
The sliver of your diamond's affable grating.
From where I cringed saliently breathing
The throne loomed like a statue to envision
How lofty you are against the searing skies
That parted our trifling motions and corrosion
Hence, the swaying of your golden dusts
Revealed the clouds draping the swarthy crust
And in the veneer of this decaying river
I found myself a king amidst your kingdoms.
To my king-makers, let us pummel with the drizzle
And transpire with the smoke of the toppling
Cinders in our charred lips- from different derisions
And collapse with the walls of our celestial
Ideals and visions; let's rebuild a kingdom.
poem by Norman Santos
Added by Poetry Lover
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