Problematique, In Caliginosity Poem by Windsor Guadalupe Jr

As the carpet, crimson red, crept past the pews
And the sound of the bamboo piano reverberated across the chasms,
I stalled atop the church balcony, with a keen eye on the event,
That would seal what fate lies in the palm of my hands.
Spiteful vindication, insensitive reality.

Prayers are not answered not because God is in a slumber,
On a vapory cloud in the distance of light years where His hands
Are much bigger than your body, you have sworn to yourself that
You wouldn’t honor His name, for faith has been tested multiple times
And it has proven that faith is but a null substance, void of all passion.

I was perishing from the balcony, with the Sun penetrating
The Church windows of collaged sullied colors of lull blue,
Jealous yellow and putrid green. A palette of disappointment
Siphoned by what image has sprung in front of me, in a distance
Of a sniping crow with a precise beak but vapid, potential strength.

In an hour, your name would change, in a year, your figure would.
You’d be brandishing a gorging stomach, carrying infantile anticipation.
In an hour, I would be breaking like silver glass, in a year, I would thrive in desolation.
Hate begets destruction, why, love is akin to isolation.
Where to stand, I do not know, the plates drift away right before the decision.

In a decade or so, you would be wrinkled, and you would wear clothes
That are rugged in nature, but eloquent, the way you wear it
With your left hand twined to a small wench and another, to a colossal boulder
Whereas, In a decade, I would lose my senescence, I would ride my car
Alone, where I feign to see your image on the passenger seat, with eyes beaming forth.

In another day, you would be as jovial as the Sun with streaks of ember
And then as the New Year’s eve would arrive, I am jaded still in November
As the pyrotechnics roused the sky with a plethora of sounds and tints
I would be coiling in my room like used cigarettes sleeping on linoleums where
The ambiance is as dead as mortuary, sepulchral and deaf from the world.

You bid goodbye, without words for silence cannot be tampered
With the portent of words, pretentious as a guised intention
Unsheathed, a sword is to be unsheathed, your smile has shown abruptly
I writhe in the sea of resent and anguish, I am scourged with a flail
Forged by the masochism of my own self, in the nights where I cringe and face the walls.

As you saunter past the pews, with the people in revelry,
What is in this day to revel about? I have my place in soliloquy
The Utopian smirk on your faces, I disdain all of you.
The asthenic murk of my graces, have maimed me from the view -
Your visage, I have lost it in the arms of another you.

I would not hold a cold and trite bottle of stale wine,
Nor entrance myself with the lines of the smoke as fast as trains
I am a problematique, in the mirrors of reality and my enmity
In the event of plagued veins and feelings in the time of caliginosity.
The heavens descend upon my blistered feet, sundered soul.