The Door

The door is open.
Spirits race out into the dark.
They are escaping.
Re-inventing death.

I am one of the spirits.
I am one of the lost.
Escaping into the dark.

The door closes.
Slams shut
Now I am outside.
Lonely spirit lost.
Lonely voice screaming in anguish.

Horrors upon horrors.
Night upon black.

Hot wind sears thought.
I think but I am thoughtless.

Cavern of space
with empty eyes.
Sockets of disease proliferating
in jangled tones of sombre.

Grey moon.
Overshadowed undercurrents
of lisping lips.

Are they mine?

Are they mine?

I don't know how to love me.
Useless thinking wasted on
emotions that are shapeless reunions
of sliding weeds.

I am growing a skin.
It is bleeding.

The door is my answer.
Slam it shut.

Don't let the tears out.
They may define my state of mind.
But in truth,

they are shallow.

So am I.

Chris G Vaillancourt's picture

Over 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 Winds Press, such titles as "Doors and Windows", "Dancing in the Eighties" and "Slow Burn"., I have had four poetry books published, "Teardrop of Coloured Soul" "I Walk Naked into a Cloud", "the Rushing Stream of Desires", and "A Yellow Sunshine Night".

Last updated August 18, 2011