Stolen Pilgrim Poem by Windsor Guadalupe Jr

Siphon the sapid filth
From the orifices
And they have bludgeoned
The nail beds
And made them appear like
Tombs where the children
Dance to the sound of the whistling wind.
And they have stolen the
Innocence from these juvenile
Pilgrims,
They have transmuted the clouds
And turned them into a mistral abhorrence.

They have long taken you
To the silent land that
Not even the nuisances
Could strike the nuance
Between life and death
Consistency and inconsistency
Ephemeral and infinite states
Love and enmity.

They have stolen you
And I pray to the Gods
To the seraphs
To the virgins, vestals,
To the virile soldiers,
To the bolstered enigmatic warfare,
To the blinding art of mendacity,
To the poorly sculpted statue of veracity
To any kind of analogues,
Or contraindications -
They will never give you back to me.