Pangs Of Deliverance Poem by Norman F. Santos

I watched you spin the tables
And reduce the forsaken fables
To an ostensible cacophony
And peel the enswathed naïveté
You stepped out of threshold
Your calloused hands groping
For the advent of an extra age
And your sallow eyes shattering
In the rancor miasma of derision
It may not be a debonair memory
But I remembered it too clearly
And I am ready to regurgitate
The living ghost in my cranial vault
And I do not intend to procrastinate,
Nor do I need a fire to instigate,
What I need is a hollering nostrum
From an insolent dilettante
To acquaint myself with
The point of self deception
An abandonment that recoils
In the trigger of a double barrel gun.