Every inch of this city has a relic of love

Every inch of this city has a relic of love

A Poem by Darwyn Sansalone

The beginning of the final frontiers


Bestow us an emotion with no motivation or symbolic representation

Bound conformities to a higher state of intrusive oppression

The hourglass will fluctuate as world will intonate

As the city sleeps it permeates an aura of intrinsic passion

These folds are the ripples we fear

The end is nigh as the end is near

This inverted freedom is a figment; as a shadow casts no more then a penciled outline

Montreal is this city; this is only an inch of its mysterious beauty

Brimming with love and consequent chaos

Where our ghosts rise, wandering to this sanctum in premeditated fate

Here our past will become our dreams of the present and confirmed aspirations of the future 

For when this city howls with a ferocious wind; may we find love in death; Hallelujah

© 2010 Darwyn Sansalone

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Thanks! Intonate is left to the reader to decide, as intonation can be taken by any means of representation. I'll probably work with the punctuation later on, I might add on to the poem, maybe another stanza or two.

Posted 12 Years Ago

This is a delectable poem in its read. A little punctuation would do wonders for setting an appropriate rhythm, and I wondered about your usage of "intonate"? Other than that, glamorous work!

Posted 12 Years Ago

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2 Reviews
Added on April 21, 2010
Last Updated on April 22, 2010


Darwyn Sansalone
Darwyn Sansalone

Montreal, Quebec, Canada

Passion is a misconception, desirability is a goal, yet you dismiss all gods but your own. When you understand my ideology, I welcome you. Impractical, no. Senseless, perhaps. A walking empiricism, al.. more..