From Beauty To Unsightly Poem by Windsor Guadalupe Jr

In the event of Christmas Eve,
I am a dead Christmas tree, with no lights in between outstretched branches
No gifts underneath, just dust and lost time, precious time
Because I am not Christmas Eve,
I am the forgotten dishes after Christmas grace.

In lieu of another Year,
Perhaps the dawning of the New Year’s Eve
Men would be heralding the sky with fireworks,
And women would take pictures of their sons and daughters
Where am I in the New Year’s eve? You’d never find me.

For I am the ash of dying fireworks,
Desolated gun powders on the city streets,
Firework wrappers that tediously adorn the pavements
The lost cries of children who are afraid of the banging of pyrotechnics
I will be one of these; you choose what figure I shall assume.

In one’s revelry, as he or she ages
As if a bird ready to come out of his cage
Would you find me in the impeccable celebration?
No, I will be alone, but I will be fine.
As you all go home intoxicated, I am ashes and wine.

In the moment of true love,
Where would I be? I will not be between bodies in friction
I will not be etched in one of the heart’s addiction
Towards the other, I say, I am obscured
You will find me in moribund promises and abandoned homes.

In the melodies of a fine love song,
Would you find me hanging by the artist’s lips?
Would I linger on the singer’s tongue?
No, you would not find me in the beauty of it
You will find me soon after the song has died in between lines.

In the circumstance of child birth,
Would you find me, cradled in the arms of a beautiful mother?
Whose smile depicts the simper of a highly anticipated blessing,
Bestowed upon hearts eager towards loving?
No, you will not find me there, I am the blood on the floor, solidifying.

During the Sunrise,
Would I be in the barren azure, freely gyrating?
Would I be the rooster, making resonance in the vast world?
So as to invite you all to the promise of the evening?
No, I will not be there, I will be sleeping during the day.

And when the Sun decides to exit the skyline,
And the moon now flaunts its exquisite, luminescent tail
Would you find me there, in the busy streets and city buoy,
Perhaps not, I would be incognito, muted in the horizon
You will never find me, I am in the arms of oblivion.