Quintessential Vanities Poem by Windsor Guadalupe Jr

The moon
Basks in a trellis of effulgence
But often times forgotten
In sleep.

The sun
Crowns the heads
Of the noble flowers and foliage
But frequently elusive
In the time of mad cavalcades.

A kiss
A moment of eccentric fires,
In between flesh, filled with grue
Or rue, often times misleading panache
Rid of the efflorescence of
The slithering tongues.

A moment,
In a crystal-clear delusion
A smoldering delirium of ashen-faced shadows
And carousing seas -
They have wasted these reminiscences
With such uncouth foibles.

Even I cannot comprehend,
Why everything tends to go
To waste - it’s as if
The gods of the ornate heavens
Crafted these limerences and liminalities
Just to break skin,
To fill the lungs with the scent of dying embers,
And bury the decrepit bodies
Of shambled aeons.

A love
Built from the origins of fire
And the deaths of whirring cataclysms.
Only meant to obliterate the forests
And submerge the cities
Until everything is sent into oblivion.

Humans
The patrons of quintessential vanities,
The brutalized mortals of these comedies.
There’s no remedy in here
But to let in and let the destruction commence
And put it in writing,
In silver screens,
In the aperture of the heavens
And the frank caliginosity of the limbo
That we seem to thrive in.

Let in, only to destroy
And destroy one shall do
While waiting
For another one to salute
The castigators,
And the mutilators
Whilst announcing
An entry,
Granting an invitation
To a soiree of these vanities.