Alive Poem by Windsor Guadalupe Jr

Do we feel alive?
The breath of sunshine speaks with ebullient light,
And the morose wind fades from the sight,
Of which the moon holds while the child sleeps.

Perhaps, are we blighted?
A disease, an affliction of the strangest kind,
Are we finicky?
Or are we priests cleansing our souls at night?

Are we imbeciles?
Trying to decide about what’s best?
As we put our faith to the test?
We have turned into beasts during the process.

The saints are fast approaching,
Exercise the demon in you,
The demon that shows itself,
With resilient hair for a pair of horns instead.

My pulses are weak,
My sigh is vital,
I am waiting for my soul’s revival,
Just to feel alive again.