By The Willow, I Sat Down And Wept Poem by Windsor Guadalupe Jr

Out in the willow
I sat down and wept.
I shoved the shadows
Of all who left.

Out in the willow,
I blunder and fret
All the florid harrows
Are forged with regret.

By the nameless rock
I thought about the stars
The world and the seraphs in flocks;
They tremble upon my unsightly scars.

The impression on the serrated grass
Left by my contention, the feet
Wallows and relishes in this impasse
Sculpted by the impalpable moon’s fleet.

The willow sheds no tears
This sullen tapestry distorts over lurid shine
Aghast, I clench my soul in fear
As the fringes of the moon fumble upon mine

Juxtaposed to the willow, the auburn writhes
Dazed in this beguiling augury of the clouds
As the night tramples upon and breathes
The macabre air, the mercurial shroud.

Out in the willow I hold your photograph
A transatlantic confrontation, a sinewy tether.
I may have lost you in the expanse, darling seraph
Now, out in the willow, I scrounge as I wither.

Out in the willow, I sequester the aeons
My silenced howl, my dithering attrition
Billow over the willow’s buoy, its dead sensations
Susurrate over my languid soul, jaded in a perdition.

The muted willow cavils in the darkness
The rocks quiver in peculiar places
As the moon glazes the brook with a sordid blankness,
The night is crowned with a wreathe of stars and farces.

By the willow, I sat down and wept.
The morose fires of dusk set in its baleful fangs
And the brook streams in, and I am left
Here under the pale moon, with oceanic pangs.

By the willow, I sat down and wept,
And not even the stars,
The moon, the world
Cared to listen
As I am fazed, petrified by
Your departure.