The Sea Poem by Windsor Guadalupe Jr

The zephyr propels the waters back to you,
While it whistles in a symphony of solemn dreams and nights
Where the moon weeps silver tears that entrench the whole sea,
And you stand there, fishing among the currents with your
Scrawny body as a bait, the waves scheme with force to rip your soul.

From Normandy, I have heralded a plane,
I headed towards the seaside mile, where I gallop almost
As stifling as daggers or fan of knives thrown into a cardboard piece
Of falsities, blemished hopes and a swerving faith off to a restless trench
Where it cascades with full force, fragmented in midair,

Lost in oblivion, for oblivion is as accurate as the ubiquity of the omnipotence.
Where have you gone, in the nights where
I toss my body towards the waves as large as your arms,
And its sound, the roar that makes me tremble in my own skin -
My senses are blunted as the waves crash onto me,
Leaving me, a shipwreck among the corals of abysmal abeyance

I have prudently endured much of the waves,
And I swam across currents together with the threads
Of hope woven loosely so as not to inspire incandescence in the eyes
That would be of no avail when you put your self to shreds
Under the hostile waters of one’s own fanaticism and beguiling flattery

As much as I want to be one with your Sea,
It would always be ergo to my deeds, though purified and chaste
That patience is but a sullying, and to desire your tongue as salty as the sand -
Refined and smoldering under the treacherous Sun, a failed voyage.
I catch a photograph of your skin festooned with the Sea’s debris of
bliss

With every blink of an eye, you move in poetry
Alongside the monsoon that directs all the angels back to the ethereal
Where no pain will be held tightly, no love will be flailing aimlessly,
And where no one would feel such defeat like fallen blades and empty
Vessels of bullets after a war wagered upon one’s self

The Sea calls out to me again, only in the light
Penetrating the thick mist that surrounds my body,
Scantily protecting me from the profanity of a night so crude
That it has forgotten the calmness of the Sea,
Caught in a turbulent time, I am buried underneath the sand.

The sands of time, and the waves of fate
Repel like poles across pillars with legs of stone,
In the time of the hostility of the Sea, where have you gone?
Far off to the light house not to shed light, but to deprive me
Of the asylum while I prance and gyrate like a wan coral under the pelicans

There is no safe place to hide from the malady,
As if an infinite lambaste that haunts you in your sleep,
I chose to sleep with the sirens, while they entangle me with vines
From underneath the sand, emerging from the phosphorescent night and waters
Under your command.