Age Of Metanoia Poem by Windsor Guadalupe Jr

I have long permitted
The incongruousness of
The arms of solitude
Build a razing wildfire
Inside of me -

The nights have been
Dissipated in empty
Glasses that yearn for
Silent drinks that pour
Madly in nights that
I lose myself.

Even the gods
Wince at the shabby
Shadow that I have become -
Muted, destitute
With an impoverished soul.
The deluge has swallowed me whole

And cradled me to the
Chagrined shores
But there, I have known
The grand art of making
A fire for myself to keep
Me alive in the times
Where death sharpens
His stale scythe.

The stars catapult
Into the vast ocean
Of the constellations
One by one.

I have been banished for long.
I break free from the
Chains of this cantankerous exile.

Exploits,
Thousand suns,
Bonfires inside one’s cynosure.
Breaking away from the
Mad torrents of hysteria:

Here comes the
Age of metanoia.