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. Vaillancourt
Shelved in 1 LibraryAdded on April 15, 2011
Last Updated on April 15, 2011
Chris G. Vaillancourt
Windsor, Ontario, Canada
AboutOver 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..
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