Cynical Vision for the Absurd
by Enzo Tacadao
Coming through like a calibre’s finest bullet,
showing no sense at all,
the way it sunders any myth of the new age theories,
it deeply vanishes through the effulgence of the sunny days.
Hey, come with all your might,
tell me stories on the qui vive of mankind —
both of us whispering the ramshackle of the night.
Sweet seepage from my untimely dreams,
slowly, my arteries are bringing the hell of this reality.
The cry of vivacity, the sorrow of my egomaniac beauty,
it’s all I want to know by now.
Hearing my destiny’s game, savouring each attraction,
as I kiss the decadence of glistening squalor of the majority’s right.
Disparaging the once cultural standards,
human race’s pride of gallantry,
and the ever-forever sound of liberty,
I am versus its irony.
I am not here in a second, in a second,
in a goddam second, I am gone.
See you at the next tableau,
see you there in your greatly affected scenery,
away from the vastness of this society,
my image on your vitreous looking eyes is now pallor.