A Call To Arms Poem by Windsor Guadalupe Jr

His superfluous angst
Sprang from rivulets.
We undulated through harsh
Walls of seclusion
And the retired cavalcade
Of derision.
He gave life to all of them
In a surreal gush of
Thwarting caprice.

He lifted his scrawny arm
In his sinister aesthetic
And thunder-like wit
His auburn dagger-like nose
Protruded as the smoke
Bellowed like ghosts
On the silent isles.

He was bleeding
And the skies are cut
And torn inside and out
He held an anguished clout
That rummaged through
The seams of the
Filthiest fabric of these
Synthetic fellows.

I have long read
His scriptures
And sent in a thousand
Unfathomable seas
His oceanic despair
That flamed like crimson
Tongues in the caliginosity
Of his barren room
That reeked of death and
Sagacity
Reason and fidelity
Strength and adequacy

But these fools
That held asinine idiosyncrasies
Stole the leonine soul
He kept inside his
Frame.

These lambasted tete-a-tetes
In between stale smoke
And pungent liquor
Made us alive in days
That spun in torment.
You spun in your laments
As the punitive hands
Of the mad populace
Carry you to a trifle morose
Of fear and morose wind
That shatters the trees
In a fashion of a
Glass house toppling.

A call to arms
To a friend in need.
To find life
In a deathly heed.
Hold your rifle sternly
As you have pledged
For yourself
In this warfare
Of nothingness
I am here to carry you
Through blood
Sharp tears
And abhorrent nightmares.

Let the nights flame
And permit the days
To trespass your shame
Tomorrow
The brink of desolation
Comes to a halt
And you will sleep soundly.
Let it come to you.