Save Me, Tarnished Heaven Poem by Windsor Guadalupe Jr

Sealed in the tight, staggering monsoon
Are the pangs of the heart that loom
What these frail hands cannot: a false hope
A crystallized tear in the abysmal sea in the time of
Caliginosity and pale light like eyes that lost the mirth
In the time of fumbling castles and dying children
Where is bliss when you need it?

And so as the story turns into knots of
Mirrors that portray distorted fate, a fate that is farce
And a love, a love that is scarce
I skirmish along the treacherous terrain of your skin,
Evading life whilst the sojourn of a heart in trepidation
Where were you in the dark? Your opaque, wintry air of
Eyes that shimmer like dead chandeliers in the smiting Sun

Have stricken me with a plague, with prongs for wings
Pestilence wreaks what your voice can, all in all the same
Your face, now brazen – my heart, swollen in the time
Of an opulent broken wind chime that is stroked by
The plush hands of convictions and time-keeping memories
In the rubble of rue and candlelight with the scent of mortuaries
God is asleep, my heart is wide awake in the city of flaring lungs

Sordid fancy, morose heavens in the stale walls of poison ivy
And burning grapevines are my place for slumber
I do not sit on a cloud, tempestuous and proud with an emerald
For a face, I herald the sky with billowing sighs and not prayers
Shifting places with transitory legs of defeated meandering
For these legs are not made to traverse,
These are meant to trample light among the perverse

I feel dead in this world, and every word seemed like
Requiems in bizarre scenarios flashed upon a wretched and defiled vista
That ushers the beasts hiding in the crevasses of fissured lips
And sardonic smiles of preys in the savagery of lunging phantoms
And shadows unmasked, unsheathed in the dark of the night
In the light of the Sun, I feel naked, cold and deserted
Rescue me, profound heavens – I am as ardent as a saint in hollowed form

But then again, is heaven tarnished?
Vanquished within an elusive prison,
I can feign a smile, but can vaguely express euphoria
In the time of a discoloured heaven ebbing with an affliction;
What more can the fanciful little people say, with quaint, sinning lips
And lavish tongues of exquisite prattle? I do not know;
All I know is I need heaven to restore me.