Transitions Poem by Windsor Guadalupe Jr

The felicity of my structures
Muse over the pristine
Hollows of your feet
That made impressions
On the white, phosphorescent sand.

The fastidious grips
On a clout hand,
A taut kiss on the ground,
And the clocks that
Hum the morbid impending doom -
I am undaunted
Nor shaken.

I am moored
To your stations,
Jaded in your chasms,
Perplexed in your conundrums
And besotted
In your sun-glazed ardor.

We will turn the morose
Into blithe,
The darkness
Into light
The sullied visions
Into a gleaming sight
And the rigid
Into lithe.