Norman F. Santos
Verisimilitude Of Grandiose Iii: Debonair Soiree - Poem by Norman F. Santos
Trample in the lacquer marbles of a soiree
And whittle an elegy from the toppling sea
Of our struggles behind the concealing drapes
And of the waltzing feet and swaying knees
And you will find nothing but a fraudulent soiree.
Come, debonairly donned in a dishabille suit
By the most splendid textile and luxurious craft
Hand tailored by your lamentations and sentiments
With a cigarette parting the fake smile on your lips,
A pen and paper squirming inside the tattered pockets,
For this is a revelry with a putrid kind of loneliness
Where you would wither like a hapless wallflower
Only without any walls to catch your recumbence
Or nacreous eyes to witness (or share) the sordidness.
Then raise a highball of gold dusts while
People drag at each other’s sycophancy
In a swanking heraldry of tuxedos and ball gowns
Some would wear it mournful in black, some in fiery red,
Some in the tepidness of blue, some even half-naked,
But only in the same fashion of a bull fight’s carnage.
The prismatic miasma of the debonair soiree erodes the vivid
Frescoes from the milieu to undrape the lustful invitation
Crying for a tea cup of egoism, and a scarce spoonful
Of grandiosity farfetched from a meaning
Then you will realize that you had forgotten
Your masque, for this is a masquerade.
Indeed, life is a delusive debonair soiree.
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