Windsor Guadalupe Jr
Drunken Child In The Night's Austere Chest - Poem by Windsor Guadalupe Jr
As I was in a paroxysm
Of a venomous gale
Impregnated with the
Vindication of the uncouth
I heard eerie groans,
Mutilated cries from the streets.
The dogs were shaken
As the scent of the Christmas air
Loomed over the sleeping abodes.
The snarls, the dissonance
Crept like wildfire - hound
Idle home after idle home,
And unto me.
I mustered all courage to look
Outside in the night’s austere chest
And I was mortified to see
A child who was wearing a verde cap,
Cloaked in the night - a ragamuffin
Drunkard at the juvenile age of
14. I knew who he was, and he
Was drunk with the wrath of liquor.
His kindred carried him -
A drunken child in
The night’s austere chest,
The heavens are filled with quagmire
That plummets away from my solstice’s crest.
A child numb in physiologies
Cradled by the concerned populace.
But what now,
In this stark night of
I have been dead for 8 years,
And no one ever dared
To carry me away from
Away from the night’s
And onto a field
Where all the dead souls
Are brought to life.
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