I heard a bell bellow <br />but I didn't find its tower <br />The echolalia coiled eternally <br />in distraught from insularity <br />and the mist listened <br /> <br />For whom the bell tolls <br />when the sun had set for tomorrow <br />before it can rise today? <br /> <br />Because your lissome hands <br />grew brass, writhed cold <br />Your sapphire stares <br />rived amongst stones <br /> <br />Your search lights marauded <br />and probed my wasteland <br />looking for holes behind <br />the threadbare tapestry <br /> <br />Your sapient picaresque <br />finally found its tragedy <br />and your sunshine-soused hands <br />is soldered to the brittle bones <br /> <br />Look at you, haplessly caught <br />in your own tangled web <br />whilst I lambently watch you <br />like a wistful stone-fleshed gargoyle <br />as you weave familiar ripples <br />born by the deluging struggles <br />that I managed to survive <br /> <br />Look at how your quasars <br />excoriate wounds and scars <br />and how the effluence of their screams <br />fecundates your chandeliers <br />ready to burst and become <br />the cul-de-sac of your galaxy <br /> <br />Look at how you morph <br />into the molts of my old shadows <br />and my empathy is with <br />your obdurate struggling <br /> <br />Can you still remember where <br /> the suppuration of the empty bells sleep <br />and dream of abundant morrows? <br /> <br />My sun crawled up lazily <br />I heard a tinkered bell <br />interpolating with abrasive tongues <br />willowing the old serpentine road <br /> <br />I saw a scathed hand, <br />its veins are blue and yellow, <br />pulling the bell's rope <br />like foisting punches into the air <br /> <br />I saw a wuthering moth <br />lambently stride to the flame <br />and heard a bell bellow <br />for its subtle elegy.<br /><br />Norman Santos<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/for-whom-the-bell-tolls-6/
