Galleries of life
Listen to poem:
Galleries of life, ignorant and tough,
Sometimes as sandarac’s incense, usually morose.
I erase bluntness that grew a cravat around my heart,
Abominable inheritance riveted into the soul of farce,
But there is nothing more valued in life than experience,
And there is a bag-full of it in every one of us.
No remorse or isolation, nor any type of solitude can adjust
The solemn desertion that he had to live through.
I am a repeat stranger of sleepless nights,
Lord of rage and hope deposited in a vending machine,
Even during this epistolary hour as a rusty apparatus,
I tick away the time of my life with a slackened pace,
I bore pain, and challenge the horizons where hope seeps
Into the shadows of silence. ---- And it drags its tails,
And it downs the trust that was instilled into the twig since its birth.
The lucent moment of the very first fresh breath ever taken,
During the opulence of love, ---- I beside him.
And he?? He bears the name of a god, in the name and in the spirit,
Dragon-heart-in-a-boy knocking down the stacks of wonder,
In awe one is to marvel his persistence, in awe I remained.
And there is the black sky that roasts my visions,
As the quiet weeping, from the fringes of a moral conduct,
Fastened, with a shawl around the neck that blurs the boundaries,
Of the conflagration as the labyrinth of thought brings to
The verisimilar life-tales, one unintentionally, creates along the way.
And there is the ground-zero widow, the dead bride, an apparition
From a different universe that stands atop a pyramid seemingly vincible
Yet untouchable, yet invisible, yet as vocal as bell in a chevron wave,
When I think to dare, when I am happy, and when I am cross as a bear.
Copyright © Hound of Poetry | Year Posted 2019