Windsor Guadalupe Jr

Rookie (April 28,1992 / Philippines)

Delusion Soiree - Poem by Windsor Guadalupe Jr

I perched atop a cypress with my eyes
In circumspect, circumnavigating the ashen trellises,
The musing tapestries, the truant shadows
In a sodden attrition, and I thought,
Where in these chasms will I find a soiree?

I sauntered past the hideous pavements
And the flowers that were fulminating saluted
Me as if a captain over their petals of fire.
But I am just a poor maudlin that skulks with the ire
Of the gods and other fragmented people cajoled
Into the abysses.

The cars blared and passed by – they made such
Terrifying hoarse cries. The lamenting automobiles
Sped right past me and it reminded me of the time
I never had in between restrained clacking of the arms
Of the clocks.

To all the people I’ve never met,
To all the strangers that wept as I passed by,
To all the assiduous men and refined women,
I resent the day that I have died not to live,
But to die some more
And so meet me at a delusion soiree,
Where we will be drinking half of the moon’s
Vivacious light
And we will dine underneath the Sun
Hoisted to the aperture of the firmaments
Like a chandelier.
There, all of us will have accompaniments
And an orchestra of sanguine sighs
Will be playing songs that we fancy so much
In the tedious time of surly conversations.

All of the weary children will once again
Bask underneath the northern lights,
And all of the worn-out women will soon recover
Their innocence and thank nothing
But themselves.
All the lonely men will find meaning and repose
As they acquaint themselves with such
Elegant and poignant women.
There will be no room for churlish affairs
And brusque abandonment.
There will be consistencies
And distractions, and they will keep tiny photographs
Of themselves – Alive in merriment,
Burning in the cold.

We will relinquish within ourselves,
And in these staunch bastions,
We will rejoice that the castigation is so painless
That even the soft, silken veneers of our souls
Remain unscathed, unblemished as the malicious
Hands of abandonment vie to get a grip of us.

They will never triumph over us.

And as for you,
Where are you?
The whole cocktail of nostalgia
Arrived, and the whole world
Conspired with us in such a deluded, ethereal
You are my only anticipated visitor.
I am waiting,
Meet me at the delusion soiree.

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Poem Submitted: Monday, December 12, 2011

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