A Letter To God Poem by Windsor Guadalupe Jr

Dear God,
I am moored to my bed,
As much as a shipwreck is tethered to the see floor
My face is sullen and heavy,
As much as a shipwreck is rusting and swathed with moss
Dear God,
None of these opiates, these passages,
These worldly and other-worldly things
Assuage the clamor of my heart so vast,
So immense, that you can almost see it
In the horizon, constellated and crying tears of
Jovial emeralds and glimmering night stars
Dear God,
I feel like a defunct establishment,
As much as a man that feels empty,
There he is alone, and then he looks at everybody
Look at them, why, unsparingly
These sheets unsheathed the man concealed
His clandestine voyage towards nothing hill,
Or a deadly fandango around a cypress,
With his hands alone, clasped from skin to bone,
Tell me, wise Father, if one is so wise – perhaps, sagacious
Why this one, dress me, clothe me with nostalgia and
An abandonment, and I curse you for giving me a woman,
And taking her away from me in the blank hours of my
Garish trance – and then, you, giving me liquor,
Stale and exposed to light, cigarettes, stark, and pilfering
Every second of my life, I feel diminutive
In this world of taciturn prattles – Where am I to go?
They talk to me, omniscient, as if trying to console me –
Am I a savage beast? An untamed soul?
Am I that terrible in such distraught and loneliness,
That they come to me, and talk to me,
And give me cheap hopes and even cheaper smiles?
Their faces are bent, and their visions are distorted –
I do not need you here, for in the world that everybody
Has claimed to be theirs – oh what harmless lie that is
Then these are the masters of mendaciloquence that I have
Come to believe from your loosely sagging lips
And chaffing tongues; I retort all of you in books,
In poetry, in literature, I disdain you as much as I abhor
Mornings in memoriam of curled hair, ballerina stance,
Tulips, these flowers, they cut my lips accurately – more precise
Than a blade should cut through thin, supple skin
And her memories, and her name, and I do not understand
How she managed to be as destructive as a tempest
As a warfare of turrets and artillery – why God,
Am I the hapless one? Why? Tell me?
In all intents and purposes, as the tides are endowed
In the iron sea of memories where you toss me
Where I plummet and cascade with the rain,
Tell me, why such misfortune that I have come to
Loathe life, loathe everything?
Dear God,
I am here on my bed, waiting among
The postponed, the deferred dreams that I long kept
Clasped within my hands, the feral jeopardy
Of wanting and loving – of hating and repulsing
I do not know, but one thing is for sure
That in the deep, shrilling voice of the night’s first
Premature lips that cut through the mildew
And daffodils and tulips and curled hair,
Ballerina stances, two protruding front teeth,
I have come to scorn every little thing
About the abstractness of this enigmatic disease
That recedes in a heart – that baffles the soul
And severs it into worlds unknown.