Orphaned Light Poem by Norman F. Santos

With such insentient fervor
He nibbled on his fingernails
Whetting the anxious squirming
And posed the levity of his head
On the snowcapped comportment
In the craning arms of the window bay
And the inebriated moon dawn closer
Inflated in its own opaqueness
Elucidating the chapped eviscerations
On the stripped placidness of his features
And his eyes of lifeless age
Tinkered of a spurious verve
That plucks the distant luminaries
Like saccharine pebbles and berries
That slathers the rocking cradle of apathy
Whilst the quicksand on his mattress
Spun and pirouetted in vertigo
And he was like a sordid spit of clay
Without the molding of the potter’s hand
And the dense concrete walls crept loftier
Closing him in the loins of asphyxiation
As he thawed like a candle wax
In a fanaticism to be one with the wandering
And unfettered enthralling night crystals
That now starts to undulates like a lifeline
Beckoning the perilous arrival of the nadir
Of one orphaned luminary now musing
The assembly, now hissing like angry jewelries
With the biting frost of the gale
On the portico of their sailing ships
Running like fading lights on streets
Past the chasms of the slumbering city
Far away from the very soul
Of a vacant home.

Back on his fingernails,
With so much insentient fervor
He unsheathed strength from a vulnerable place
And comb the golden threads of his tethers
His lips quavered and mouthed:
Will those stars return again?