Thursday, March 30, 2006

November - 2

Silence rages, crippled between
the fluctuation of voids and sounds.
The hound dogs are corralled
inside the cages of their howls.

The sun rays are calibrated
by the oscillating terse dance of clouds.
Tired Mondays in November
grow fond of heated lovers
quarreling to regain their passion.

Drama fills the doldrums
of monotony, repetition and boredom.
Trapped words anticipate the descent
of truncated thoughts to become phrases,
later sharpened swords of liquid images.

Poetry extricates the thorns and nails,
spreading oceans of volatile emotions.
The flame burns, the blame yearns
to entrench cascades of fertile seeds.

Clasp the antagonist rebellion of flowers.
Rotate backward all the hours,
reinvent the whimper of infancy,
instead of augmenting the intensity of lunacy.

The Winter of Autumn