Closing Stages: Day, Night Poem by Windsor Guadalupe Jr

</>Please, I think I begged,
Do not conclude – for conclusions,
May be farcically crafted, into delusions
Of your soul sifted from the body
You cannot say, that a smile,
Is tantamount to a man handsomely treated
By life, by the stars, by the Moon
As if their next of kin,
For even the pictures speak a different dialect,
Often in a language that you can’t read –
And so, this, that in the night, I feel desolate,
As if the promise of the morning is neither obstinate
Nor adroit – then the malady lies not with the Moon,
But the reason behind the dark’s hoarse cry
And so, I will pledge and vouch for my body festooned
With snow and glaciers – That in the night,
I feel immensely, intensely alone as if I am betrothed to it,
For in the night I have nothing to do – and that in the morning,
There is much to do – a drudgery – but then, still, I remember you,
And the mourning is not fair, my prayers are maladroit,
Let me say this one last time, in your departure,
That when I feel alone in the night, the day does not bring me comfort,
For the night is carried on, as the Sun slips into its station
At the middle of the universe, conspiring to ignite,
And at the cynosure of my hollowed soul – to take flight,
To set me into a lambaste – the miscibility of the day,
And the torments of the night;
I will never find light, in your absence.