Nowhere Plateau Poem by Windsor Guadalupe Jr

There’s a place where I thrive,

Where the thresholds are alive,

And the pillars embrace me with augury,

But a gentle omen – not the one told

When a glass shatters, the deathly clatter it makes!

-

There’s a place where I built my walls,

And a tiny piece of wakefulness in her glow

Tells me that I shall live there, like a flame

That is dissipated upon a sea of kerosene,

Like violence upon submission and obscenity,

The world spins and I took great acrimony

Of how it spun madly, unsparingly that I have aged

But then, time had not been good to me.

-

There’s a place that I know of,

Where the walls do breathe but do not make a sound,

Where the waters are shallow but the temperature is profound,

Where the shadows fall succinctly upon graves,

The insurgency of boorish words are nowhere, they are sentients,

They do not lend they ears to listen to sentiments,

For in that specific place – ethereal, a room of surreal trance,

There is no somber reverie, no grave disputes

There’s no light, no vicissitude, but it hath never offended me,

As if a truce where one jousts with anguish,

And I wield a petite, blunt dagger – no!

That is a place that has bequeathed me with comfort,

With a pristine solace – where I shall sleep like a beloved scion,

There I festoon my bed and moor it, to a place called oblivion.