Tonight, I Shall Loathe Poem by Windsor Guadalupe Jr

Tonight, I loathe
Even the daintiest of
All blinking things.

The stars?
What are the stars!
Nothing. They are just
Minute explosions and not
So much godly scintillations.
Only a bout of conceit
And a peal of deceit,
That is what the stars
Tell – a weak fumbling
Of words unsaid.

The moon,
Only in hindsight
I suppose the fringes are
Flourishing tonight
And I see a militia of forlorn
Dreams trapped in each one!
Aghast, I could have taken
Photographs but I would not
Like the torment of encasing
Such dreadful breaths into
A stark piece of
Wry caricature.
The moon and its omen,
I could never put them
So much in a city of words.

The cacophony of the
Night – beguiling!
A mindless wandering
Through the night that sifts
The foliage from the barren lands
And what horror is this?
To hear the tigers pounce,
To hear the groans of the fatalities
And sink in the ornate chasms
Of the travesties?
Listen and be enticed
Only to render you a curse
That is irremediable.
The night trickles upon my glass -
Emptied once,
Tender now
Emptied once more,
Filled – I do not know how.
The subtleties of the night
Are just muted howls
Of the broken souls.

Tonight, I will loathe
And perhaps the night
Could devastate forever -
Spare this moment
For the night
The stars
And its symphony
Mean nothing but
Tedious crafts.