Status: Finished

Genre: Poetry



Status: Finished

Genre: Poetry


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Submitted: May 18, 2017

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Submitted: May 18, 2017



Impassivity and obscurity

Clung heavily onto the evening twilight

Where afterglow should have met afternoon

In a romantic rendezvous,

There instead was a dalliance between darkness and dusk:

When they kissed, it was two thunders clustering in a clap, and

When they wept, it was a tide that quavered in dividends 


The night was always sad,

And underneath the satin sky, there were onlookers—-

Transcendentalists, romanticists, optimists—-

Who continuously laid upside down

And only ever saw the sky backwards

In times of vacancy, which was forevermore,

The foolish idealists glimpsed at the nocturnal hour

And saw a dimension of possibilities

When the two thunders clustered in a clap,

They only heard a round of applause

When the tide quavered in dividends, 

They only felt a waterfall

But deep within the crevices, there was a stranger amidst the ignorant

A hound in the hills, a lone wolf in the wild


In the dark hours,

The wolf would gnarl and bawl at the nightfall

Where myriads were placid with the lithe hollow,

It felt angered by its barrenness

And even betrayed by its alleged gloaming beauty 

The wolf was a contrarian to the idealists;

It did not believe there was a sweet gentleness in destitute,

Nor any pleasurable softness in depletion

Thus, it cried and cried and cried

It wept until the others could not gleam,

It wept until the others could not dream,

It wept until the bemoans and bewails were so vehement

That the copacetic people below,

Once sprightly and sparkling,

No longer grinned and no longer gallivanted

Where they once heard applause

In thunders clustered in a clap,

They only saw noise

Where they once felt waterfalls

In the tide quavered in dividends,

They only saw a storm


Overtime, the onlookers became sleepless and miserable

When their lethargic grimaces confronted upwards,

The fatigued physiognomy were glass mirrors to the sky’s transparency

And as reflectors of one another, both remained

Lost and empty and soulless

On occasion, the people emoted their grave desperation

By barraging a weapon fire at the dimpled sky,

Rocketing perhaps any object in their near grasp

In hopes that one day, the night would fill with something,

And the wolf would no longer cry

But alas, the circumstances never occurred, 

And the insomniacs continued to feel dismal

The wolf was smug:

It had felt indefinitely victorious, for it had taught its lesson:

There was no avail in animation

And certainly no service in being sanguine

Rose-colored glasses were unprescribed spectacles 

That only blurred nihilistic tableaus into sunlit dazes,

And finally, the onlookers were seeing clearly



Where adoration lied, it lingered inept within the wolf's mouth

Cobwebs drew themselves and dawdled

When three words and three syllables loitered and were left muted

Indeed, whispers fled and whimpers fell,

A pulsating fade-in and fade-out between pause and presume---

The reluctance of love is where

Words find their voices without a tongue to speak,

And the wolf’s wailed and wept, and never found its concord)

Each cry was a matter of graceless conniption,

But deep within, in some sense, it was all terribly wistful,

For the wolf found the glossy sky as its speculum

And saw profound vacuity within itself

So from then on did the wolf thunder,

And from then on did the wolf storm


But then: a Blue Moon arose,

And suddenly, the whole world was aglow;

Comets began to collapse and rather than rupturing the Earth,

It fell and flaunted its glimmer like fresh, anew blossoms

Stardust drifted like pollen and found itself

In strange, trifling faces that twisted themselves in foreign delight

Elation---the common cold, rapture---the hay fever,

Clumsily, frantically, foolishly,

The streets emanated paled dapples of the crest above,

And the roads were tender with luminescence

Radiant precision dug its adolescent fingers into the world

And moulded it until scintillant gleams dripped out like afore


But of course, curiosity sprung like a hand from the grave

In its inquisitive and paranoia-driven manner,

And the wolf began to howl in obscene fright

Its shrill was so brash and brutal that the onlookers

Were almost deafened by the abrupt cacophony

However, the Blue Moon was not mortified

Veritably, its cotton-soft heart did not falter a tad

In the wolf’s growling dissonance, it found a sweet symphony

So mellifluous that the moon shut its eyes and hummed in return

Balletically, the candor of the crescent broke the dubious spirit,

For it assured the shallow shadows were merely memories now


For a time no longer recalled, a moment lost in a lapse 

The aphotic stretches were solely vacant inkblots

In a cursive love letter never written yet still read

What was left was

A softened echo, a solemn evaporation—

Good-riddance and farewell


Now, here was the dream,

The sweetened, superlative reverie-turned reality

A kiss prevailed, and when the wolf opened its lips, 

The Blue Moon did not evoke a cry, but rather

If eyes be parallels to the window of one's soul, 

Then its mouth had undressed it completely

And what then, with such a naked heart and bare ardor?

The planetoid offered the sky a fluorescent flame,

And the wolf waltzed in its warmth for eons on end


Oh, the hound was moonstruck!

With its rosy mouth (whose weeps often wilted its own petals)

Was now closed and quiet, and simply just bloomed;

For there was a vacancy within itself—

An emptiness in the emptiness in the sky’s great immensity

The darkened ambiance was perennially corrupted 

By an effervescent hue as glittering as champagne

What was once a sleek, solemn sheet

Devoid of colliding, languorous stars

Now glimmering through the dusk and ran slack at dawn

The sallow abyss was dented in

With violet stars that clasped onto the night

And glistened upon its aflame underlip

And even when the night was hushed of howls,

The reticence was still ruptured

By silky giggles and erupting laughter

From the stars that hung with the light

And the onlookers that were gazing at them


The Blue Moon arose,

And suddenly, the whole world was aglow

The cemetery of the sky had now come alive,

And the resurrected frolicked in deep ecstasy

The dreamlike euphoria dispersed onto the earth

From the drooping angel, the harmony in slow-motion, 

The silver, sweeping remembrance 

Of junctures that no longer daunted the hound

And the outcries that no longer haunted the people

A sapphire gem slithered into the night,

And suddenly, the wolf was no longer vacant

Everything it knew about ignorance, inelegance, and impiety

Metamorphosed to buoyancy, beauty, and belief

The wolf no longer thundered,

And the wolf no longer stormed

And though the blue moonlight was blue,

The wolf looked at the moon

And only saw its light

© Copyright 2017 MSVallecio. All rights reserved.

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