Windsor Guadalupe Jr
Malaise - Poem by Windsor Guadalupe Jr
Friend, I was told
Of an unsparing melee:
I’ve not a single skepticism -
Only inveigling chauvinism.
I am impaled to my bed,
Like the clock that is safely dangling
At the cynosure of the pallid wall
With flustered insects.
I do not know what I am doing.
My idiosyncrasy is hapless,
I am a naked flower in the shrouds
Of sheathed thorns.
I do not know where to belong,
I am a reticent owl in a barrage
Of screeching, elegiac bats.
And I do not know what form
Is this that I assume.
I am a shriveled moth,
In a carousel of humans
Circumnavigating this downtrodden
Field you call the Earth.
They are frantic.
I am apathetic.
What frenzied fervor do these people hold
That I cannot usurp it with my hands?
And the people saunter aimlessly in packs,
Their eyes are burning in the submission.
Their paws are prickly upon the serrated grass.
These wolves – a pack of wolves,
Will tatter the shoal that covers the ocean
Of my unconscious states.
I fathom, this is how it works.
They take you,
And they siphon your blood,
And demolish your flesh,
Incinerate your bones,
Indict your dreams,
Until nothing is left,
Comments about Malaise by Windsor Guadalupe Jr
Read this poem in other languages
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
Still I Rise
The Road Not Taken
If You Forget Me
Edgar Allan Poe
Stopping By Woods On A Snowy Evening
Do Not Stand At My Grave And Weep
Mary Elizabeth Frye