Dear Walls Poem by Windsor Guadalupe Jr

Arid witnesses of mishaps and jeopardized fancies.
I hope you understand this child’s insurgencies.
That it does not coalesce with midnight fantasies,
And solemn verses that inspire somonolence,
I apologize for the mendaciloquence.
She is art. She is artsy, and she tiptoes into grace,
Dear Walls, where have my days strayed?
They have lurked far enough perhaps, behind her constellations,
I am as marred and dark as an empty, morose station
As if collected, by an enthusiast of sordid fancies.
There is no restoration, and so,
In this epistolary liaison that betroths me
To the clockwork tether of my own delusions,
It would appear that no matter how far I run,
I am not fazed by exhaustion, and so,
They pensively siphon the luster remaining in me.
Forgive them - for they seem to know what they are doing,
But refuse to form the undoing -
The nights are stale and bland,
Ashes are cast away, into the transatlantic land.
There are no noises here - only the rustling of the foliage,
The unsheathing of the daggers away from scabbards
And only the despairing musings of the tatterdemalion drunkards.
In here, I feel pain, but not to the extent of her soul connection.
I have forgiven her, and I have acclaimed my
Faith to my religion - I am adhered as a staunch man
Of statuesque bulwarks and heavy, threading pulses.
And at times I surrender to amaranthinely loving her,
My muse - Forgive me dear walls for my famishing honesty.
I have been surrounded by fancy people, but the moment
I have decided to participate, something bludgeons me
As if to smite my composure and leave me dismembered
Across the harlequin revelry’s floor.
Dear Walls, I cannot participate. I am unable.
I am incapable of laughing an unfeigned one.
I am most clearly incompetent,
To chase the trains as they rummage through the rails.
Dear Walls, have we suffered enough - or are these merely
Denudation? To render ourselves nude, to unravel our wounds
And scathe some more, in the pernicious fingertips of the night?
I do not know. I do not want to know.
One thing is for sure. I want to quit this place,
And perhaps, find myself - wherever
I may be in hiding.
Terribly yours,