Sepulcher
Inside this cringing vault
Impenetrable to demons
Angles flapped their wings
Fanning the inner turbulence
And the embers of suffering
And inside this vault
No one else has to know.
poem by Norman Santos
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Livid Words, Garish Codes
Elucidate with ambiguous words
Lofty towers resonating an
Echolalia of a vague title
Vacillate between empty palms of an
Empire immortal yet secular, counts
Nary with prediction, nary with perdition.
poem by Norman Santos
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Butterfly Gone
Speak little
Take a pencil
Or a paintbrush
Emancipate the lust
In your left brain
In every bend of the strokes
In every blot of the paint
And outside the canvass
Find the lambaste
Of a butterfly gone
poem by Norman Santos
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Last Words
Were the last words enough
To abjure your hostile death?
Were the last words enough
To vindicate your unconscious vagaries?
Were the last words enough
Or will I punish myself out of sleep tonight?
poem by Norman Santos
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Petrichor
There is nothing more
that I abhor
than the rain outside
on a sleepless night
or the lack of
oblivious mechanisms
when it is raining inside
the brittle bones.
Ah, can you smell
the morose in the petrichor?
poem by Norman Santos
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Woes Versus Rues VI
It was always kind
To die by your side
But too close to find my blood
Dripping from your guilty hands
I guess I'd rather die
By my own anguished hands
And leave you wondering why
I always leave things behind
poem by Norman Santos
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Be Reborn
Bask in the mire of guilt
and let the vultures surround you,
Dismount the scaffolds of regret,
count the perching crows
and cry with the parliament
From the sanguinary land
open a stone-fleshed hand
and let life reborn
poem by Norman Santos
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Infinity
A coward believes to live infinitely
If he could shun the battlefield.
A valiant believes to live infinitely
If he acquaints the estoque of a worthy nemesis.
A lion believes to live infinitely
Inside his den of fringeless eaves.
poem by Norman Santos
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Transatlanticism
The transatlantic
is just another avenue
that sequesters our reality
but we knew a clandestine door -
a shotgun alley
where we would mangle
to the sharp verity
of this lie
for in the end
of every shotgun
we are doomed
to loneliness
and
goodbyes
poem by Norman Santos
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It Pours
If you can shun
The violent lances
Omnipresent, omniscient,
Beneath the eaves
Of your umbrellas
Why can't you
Avoid avoidance?
You care too much
About the rain
And the uninvited mud,
Why don't you revel
With the downpour
Of catastrophe
Inside your bones?
poem by Norman Santos
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