Words Come StrollingA Poem by Chris G. Vaillancourt
Words come strolling playfully
across the chambers of desire. I flow with them and wonder why I cannot reach the sun with every thought that flies about my mind. I let myself become a memory in the shifting meander of strolling footsteps that have strangely entered my view. I am quietly erasing the place where I began my journey from. In streams of force the flowing embers of my brain caress the hurting emblems of forgotten sounds hurled like missiles at my incarnate soul. I proceed with caution, and thus I stop. I cannot pretend to feel for visions that have escaped my line of fire. Instead I find I must progress towards a shadow barely seen. With glorified ambition I can begin to be the soil I need to create. Eyes begin to burn as they drop like coal into the furnace of decayed wood that represents the solitude of forests gone dry. I am judge of both my life and death, and thus I become my own beginning and end. Resurrection of hope is lost as I insist upon a paper which I shall use to capture every fleeting sentence that flies like dust upon my shaking hands. I am destruction, destroying the terror that has frolicked painfully in my soul. © 2011 Chris G. VaillancourtReviews
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Added on April 15, 2011Last Updated on April 15, 2011 AuthorChris G. VaillancourtWindsor, Ontario, CanadaAboutOver 200 of my poems have appeared in more than one hundred journals in the U.S. and Canada, in Japan and Australia, and the U.K. I have had a series of chapbooks published in the 1980's by 4 Wi.. more..Writing
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