Endless Waltz Poem by Norman F. Santos

A gravid somnolence
From a constant defeat
And consistent deaths
That never really ends
Encumbers my gusto
For a waltz and its scherzo
And sit in the benches
Among the shadows
Of desolated nights

The weight of the mortified suit
And its eroding pallor
That I wore to ignite
My mechanical heels for waltz
And now I don for my funeral
In this denied living;
Took its toll
And brought me down
To the very film of my knees
And the bones kissed
The hostile marble
And the clenched fist
And shackled wrists
Toppled and rolled
With the opaque blood

The clout of defeat
From a coarse melee
Of keeping myself
In the chains of a rosary,
In the petals of a sanguinary
Glassine ice lily
In the peril of melody
Of the waltz song
Is brushed by the stroke
Of a stellar light
In the reflection of a lake

I’m too tired
To tell another story
About the pangs of reality
Of my barricading delusions
Of a dance ball
I’m bled out
Of verve,
Of demise.

But one last time
Or maybe not,
Like a chipped claymore
Crying for a war,
I will take the endless waltz
And the caustic impalement
Of another defeat
When the music stops
Favoring my feet
Because in this story
Where I have already died
I was hauled out
By an owl’s cry.