Ebony Poem by Windsor Guadalupe Jr

One tempestuous place of comfort,
Besought the qualms of one, heart undulating
Within the beams of the arms with urticating hair
Fields of snow, dire need of silver moon solidification
And what is in this surreal vindication
Of forced dreams into reality, subtly obscured
In the depths of one, shunted storm

Ornery that is crude in a carouse,
Because if one should wassail in a wake,
Then death must be a jovial, cordial prance
In the heavens - and that love is but a catalyst
In one’s own downward spiral, and so apart from
The admonition of the new classics - trust no one,
Because trust is a dark horse, an infernal heaven
A disheveled man in the arms of a labyrinthine woman

There is an epiphany when one opens
The beginning is but an augury
That in every ensuing morning, night will come
Astride, aghast as it creeps into the crevasses of
The walls that breathe - and pool like a cesspool
Where dreams are soused until heavy with liquid
Until they stench in all that is putrid
The moon light punchinello ridiculing with one incantation
Athwart the constellated skies, their caprice is vexing
Sending you to a catacomb for a rueful wake
Soon enough, one door opens to light,
And then, it would close itself as it fades into the dark.