Norman F. Santos
Norman F. Santos Poems
|121.||Birth Of The Lion Man||12/10/2015|
|122.||An Empty Hearth||12/10/2015|
|123.||Barricade Of Dominoes||12/10/2015|
|128.||Coding The Lionman||12/10/2015|
|130.||Committed To Memory||12/10/2015|
|132.||Cradle Of Deceit||12/10/2015|
|135.||I Forgot How To Do It||12/10/2015|
|136.||Heaven In A Bitter Bud||12/10/2015|
|137.||In Owls Cry||12/10/2015|
|139.||Glass Boy, Spare Some||12/10/2015|
|140.||Twilight Of Daggers||12/10/2015|
|143.||A Dream In The Shade Of Gray||12/10/2015|
|145.||One For The Road||12/10/2015|
Incongruous creeper of star crossed fate
Muted dreamer with a living to tolerate
Swanking too compensate the lack of luster
A sycophantic wish delivering a note of disaster
As you regress inexorably to a cringe of pity
A cocoon not of metamorphosis but of mediocrity
Hoisted in the blind relishing promise
A delirium of emancipation from apathetic premise
Quelling identity to bargain sympathy
A herald of toppling chance of divinity
You opt for opulent wings, lavish and capturing
Denied amplification with no point of returning
A fancy to take flight but no ...
Birth Of The Lion Man
And he was a man with revealing sylvan eyes.
Sad, wandering, eager-eyes swathed with sagacity.
Coy he was, like an eagle in the wild; avert but suspicious.
He is not a child, but he is less than a man.
A critique and a wonderer loathing on his own skin
At the top of his head, he watched people.
He watched them flash harlequin smiles at each other
Smiles that harmed his eyes like polarized lights
And he remained aloof, preserved to his flightless dignity.