Iron-Clad Muse Poem by Windsor Guadalupe Jr

The tides turn.
The hurricanes change their route,
It’s a mad world
But not as mad as you.
You have pilfered the innocence
In these callow eyes.
You are the pristine epitome
Of the night’s subjugators.
I have heard you whisper
Into my ears.
The stark wind from your lips
Was supererogatory.
The heavens are dismayed
And stultified.

One moment
You were basking in the upheaval
Of my monoliths
But soon enough
You will enter the same demise
I pray to the heavens that they spare you.
But then, it wouldn’t alter you
Nor obscure you.
You do not have the tendency
To contemplate about ending a verve.
You do not have the absurdity
Of losing appetite in a banquet of impeccable time.
You have a fragile heart -
Just like everyone
And so it does not entitle you to the throne
Of the fragile heart’s club.
You are just one of the populace
But you were the indifferent.
You were colder than the moon,
And more scorching than the sun.
You are a blustering monsoon
And as you gain intensity,
You do not smash vicinities.
You were more than that:

You smolder dreams.
You incinerate even the slightest vestiges
Once laid by traipsing feet.
You were every arsonist’s dream -
To have hands that singe with a fire
That never dies.
You were the threshold of the winter:
You are as wintry as the glaciers.

I wish sometimes that time would stop
Or the hands would petrify for a while
So that I could let you
Enjoy the putrefaction of the things
You have destroyed.

But then,
After reading these lines,
What do you feel?
Nothing.