Zealous Friends, Jealous Lovers, Two-faced Waves
Charlie, with a hathful of gratitude;
Underneath a sundered lamppost that digresses
The fiendish simper of the harlequin moon and
Behind the dazing screen of the frothing smoke
You spewed so violently, with angst and misery,
You said, inebriated by the blood of a destitute heart
And the spell of attention and camaraderie
That you will never allow losing my place—
A wafer of a turret—regardless who she will be;
A maiden of unabashed promises—you alleged
Behind the foggy breath of capitulated death
That was so much invigorating, that I was one
Of your favorite gambling cards, and one victory
From your endless brunt and grueling struggles
So I held you tight, rived in a scorching paper cut
Post Script, and a long denied demise;
Where have you gone? But worry not
I can smell the most robust verdure
The greener grass on the other side
Maybe you have not gone, after all,
Perhaps I saw too much, heard too much,
From what you did and said, but worry not
You shall be her sole bliss, her sole pain
Her endless waltz on a sapid rain.
Fatima, and a bouquet of gratefulness;
The sheathing cold and sterile scent of the arid nights
Traversed the salient oceans, the impassable hours,
To linger on the sweat-soused breath of my vespers;
Emblazoned the pallid skin and contended to shrink
The vast world so we would meet anywhere but here
And your chaste visage was too pristine to rub in
The stains of my impoverished palette of stains
So I often times kept you in a dark vault, away from
The demons and secrets you soon met and possessed
You bellowed high and became one of my electric rivers—
A torrent flow in my chasms, and some mangled nights
You gave me a place underneath your golden parasol
And let me hear the thunders, the slapping of the rain,
All the cacophonous melody of your downpour.
Post Script, and a barb wire of ties;
What hath I done or hath not?
But answer not, falter not
Tarnish not plastered grins.
The pergola underneath your parasol
Needs not my gardening, now do reckon
That his thumb is green radiating from
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poem by Norman Santos
Added by Poetry Lover
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