By The Benches, I Froze Poem by Windsor Guadalupe Jr

Tonight, I could fathom in trenches
How I waited for hours by the frozen benches
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There, the furlough: Oh how I knelt down the serrated grass
And buried my hand deep within the Earth to tether me subtly
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I beamed my head to the springs of the Sun,
And searched for faces to mingle with my lamentation
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The agony has girdled me, for I am the deserted one
How to get out of this, limping past the alleys – there is none
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But only to try and forget: sometimes I do, but most of the time,
Your sweet, elusive breath catches me in midair, impairing my flight
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Tonight, I could toil in drudgery for the heavens are never too kind
For still I hunger so much as a starved preying beast
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Gnashing of teeth, friction in between skin,
Pooling of the sea in her lips, face of divine sculpts
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Heaven must have conspired with the feathered thieves
To give you to me – but then, why do I lose you along the way,
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Is there a rueful fraternization between my bliss and your departure?
When you left, it’s as if you took everything away from me,
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My omnipotent god, the sharpness of my words,
The innocence of my eyes, the lucidity of my dreams
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Now, I must feel more alive as they say,
For in the morose wind of the night, you have gone astray
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I always measured the stretches of your oceans and seas
And I braved them, to venture across, to circumnavigate within
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And in you, I sank – never to resurface
I am despairing in your depths, is there a way out?
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The light scarcely landed on your face
And the dimness of it gave the impression of nights that burn in my misery
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My clouds are tremulous, her sea is unshaken,
Strike the chords of the finale, abandoning one – I accept my demise
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And if you shall exalt me in my repose which will never happen,
Only in my wishful thinking still, I will declare that you are buried in my words
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Go far enough, into a land of silence, take your soul, your time
The hands of the clocks, the arms of light, the eyes of the night
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Take them all away from me, for in the night that you declared
Your departure – you promised to come back at dawn
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Pale, brazen, young mistress of the moon – you are someone else’s
Alas, I am but a luckless voice billow by billow – I return to the benches.