You Did Nothing Poem by Windsor Guadalupe Jr

You are not doing anything.
You are an idle soldier,
You are a heroine
Not worthy of an exploit,
Nor a fable.
Because you did not do
Anything.

Prattle about an accolade,
That you yearn for
In the middle of the tempest.
But what did you do?
You let the candles
Die in the rain.
You let the rooftops
Face their sallow deaths.
The seas,
You left them undulating
In ripples of engagement
And disengagement.
You let the clocks
Croon the songs of the midnight
And you let the wind
Asphyxiate the forlorn man.
Because you did nothing.

And you even smile about it -
A sinister one.
And you write the eulogies,
The requiems in a dream,
The epitaphs on sepulchral graves,
And you take pictures
Of the lonesome nights
That I have had
And place them in a mausoleum
Of somber memories.
The squalor of your eyes
Like shutters shatter the
Vindication my soul once had.
You are not doing anything.

You let me die in the rain.
You let the Sun scorch my integument.
You let the Winter’s dissipating frail coldness
Cradle me like a kin.
You let the Autumn tend to my wounds,
My wounds of fulminating bloom.
My wounds of susurrating woes
And eviscerated reminiscence.
You did not do anything.

It is the 8th year,
And I am still counting the days.
You are not doing anything.
I am left in this immutable attrition,
As you build bastions around my perdition.
You stormed,
You fled.
You are as elusive as the first wave of
The fortnight.
More importantly,
You did not do anything
But let me die.