Katatonik Poem by Windsor Guadalupe Jr

I am looking for hope in certain places where hope does not bloom.
Slowly pacing a rancid room, as the arms of the clocks dictate an impending doom
The parley of bearded men, and women with a fastidious lacquer,
They are, among the stars, the most fanciful in appearance and luster.
Dear Stranger, I’d like to stay and prattle for a while,
Which could mean descrying what fate lies in a mishap that is erstwhile
Vie to remember, only too short a time for gasping fools
Vie to forget – I am upon this very resignation of blunted lamentation.
Reminiscent as a child of prying buds, reticent like the clocks
I am tethered to my bed, moored to her docks where pain slept in flocks
This paroxysmal sepulcher of carnal festivities that delve
Within the book of memories, hearts stacked among shelves.
I am the greatest measure in even greater distances –
Yet, to struggle alone in a rampant blarney of false hopes and cancer
Your distance may stretch from Normandy to either poles or the arctic,
In ripples, in sweat, in blood, in the breathing moon, the cadence is sincerity.
There is a slow restoration that sojourns into my undulating being.
I still believe – do you believe? Heaving breaths, stuporous feet
Catatonic dismal sighs, firm, steady hands. I found hope,
In the darkest hours of a desolation, deprivation that stagnated within my waters.