Mid-Winter Dusk's Romance Poem by Windsor Guadalupe Jr

The mid-winter dusk’s kiss
Is embellished on the attic walls.
Underneath the flickering Northern lights,
The winter erupts into a fountain of despondency.

Tonight I
Fill the crevasses of the streets
With my own blood. And perhaps,
Drape a stranger with my cold perspiration
But then I’d make no sense.
Only futile attempts to matter
To be heard,
To be granted of the acquittal
Of the gods.

The mid-winter dusk’s kiss flourishes
As the church bells sing in a euphonious
Choir of fallen seraphs
My lips are sealed by the tremulous waters
Of the dusk’s auguries. I am an overflowing
Chasm filled with nothing but the dark
That drank all of me, and all of the Sun.

Tonight I
Will curse my adversaries,
Battle my demons,
Wage a war against pen and paper,
Send my derelicts into oblivion
Laugh at the eternal void of one fellow
Falling out of love,
Out of faith,
Out of hope and
Out of life —

And I will tell him
That the mid-winter dusk’s kiss
Is the vanquisher of steadfast dreams.
I will let my fiends know
That I want their hearts shattered into slivers.
I want their appetites suppressed into nothingness,
I want them to starve into oblivion,
I want their plump bodies to weaken
So they’d have nothing to say about themselves -
Only brazen with cowardice and derision.

I will let pen and paper infiltrate my world,
And filter those who are not worthy
Of this farcically emboldened catastrophe.

And to those who fall out of love,
Out of hope, life, faith and exuberance -
We are lions.
We are one with strength -
We are ripped from flesh to soul
And our eyes mangle at the
Night’s haranguing -
But we must vie
For that is all there is to it.
A cantankerous venture towards
Finding something,
A gray matter
A dissipated snow flake,
A dead body by the alley,
A whole soiree of empty liquor bottles.

The mid-winter dusk’s kiss,
One that sifts the heaven out of bliss.
Someday, all those foolish men and women
Who know nothing of the mid-winter dusk’s romance
Will soon acquaint themselves
Until they can no longer talk
And prattle about how highly they are
When they are just

Inept, blundering, shallow entities.
Succumb to the mid-winter dusk’s kiss.