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.


Array

Array



Chris G Vaillancourt's picture

ABOUT THE POET ~
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".