The Curse Of Desolate Poem by Norman F. Santos

In a grave cradled by morose
Festooned with a lonely rose
A dead man, a living ghost
Emancipates from a comatose
Where the terrors basked leisurely
Nightmares that plagued his body
Anchored by bedtime stories
Fairytales and forbidden memories
Of malignant delusion in a sugarcoat
Tainted bliss beneath the tang of apricot

Facing a livid mirror, photographs in pieces
Offers shattered bruises in picturesque
Victimized in a condemning stare
Gawk of desolate and its affairs
The only eyes he looks in to;
The replica tainted with rue
Eyes shut stern from within
Profanities concealed in the dim
On the pages of her ubiquity
The lonely rose, the sweet serenity

In shade of gray, so inseparable
In the stark of light, they fumble, they crumble
At the verge of waking, an arrow
Struck his head, a pang of sorrow
When the illusion die with an eternal slumber
Blood will spill to paint forever
Such a strong word of ambivalence
Dearest deceitful friend of eloquence
The pen crossed the page once more
Committed in a memory of dying fervor.