by Chris
G. Vaillancourt
Crying at the window, I see you there.
Lifting hand in gesture of removal,
taking sight from eyes.
Seeing nothing but the tumbled
heart wrapped in dark glasses.
They shield your focus, cover
you in mirrored attention.
I feel your thoughts beating
like webs on a ceiling.
They ask me to never go away.
So I shall always love you,
even when there are tears.
I shall always protect you,
wrap you in varying shadows
of perception. Teaching you
that some daddys' never leave
you behind. Distance is illusion.
A story that ravels untold without
beginning or ending. A taste of
other visions, other rubber stamps
that leave no clear imprint on the
mind. Jangled nerves that jumble
the ripped paper like stenciled
hate upon the hands. You will
need me to be strong for you.
Lifting arms like steel shoulders
upon the shifting world that
surrounds but won't reach in.
Our minds shelter the same longing.
Stability in the pursuit of chaos.
Crying at the window, I see you there.
Scared faces pressed like
idols into the mumbled sentences
of misconceptions. We will
survive this, my children.
We will grow like weeds
between the cracks of a sidewalk.
Lifting hand in gesture of removal,
taking sight from eyes.
Seeing nothing but the tumbled
heart wrapped in dark glasses.
They shield your focus, cover
you in mirrored attention.
I feel your thoughts beating
like webs on a ceiling.
They ask me to never go away.
So I shall always love you,
even when there are tears.
I shall always protect you,
wrap you in varying shadows
of perception. Teaching you
that some daddys' never leave
you behind. Distance is illusion.
A story that ravels untold without
beginning or ending. A taste of
other visions, other rubber stamps
that leave no clear imprint on the
mind. Jangled nerves that jumble
the ripped paper like stenciled
hate upon the hands. You will
need me to be strong for you.
Lifting arms like steel shoulders
upon the shifting world that
surrounds but won't reach in.
Our minds shelter the same longing.
Stability in the pursuit of chaos.
Crying at the window, I see you there.
Scared faces pressed like
idols into the mumbled sentences
of misconceptions. We will
survive this, my children.
We will grow like weeds
between the cracks of a sidewalk.
© 2010
Chris G. Vaillancourt. All rights
reserved.
_______________________________________
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
Chris G.
Vaillancourt is a Canadian poet who has enjoyed publication in numerous
small poetry magazines and newsletters, such as Pagan Lady Poetry Journal, The Inkling;
The Lance; Opussum Review; Red Dragon; Poesia International; Plum Ruby Review;
Windsor Star; Quills, Poetry Sharings, Poesy, Poetry Stop, Detour Memphis, and a
host of other print and ezine publications. Several chapbooks of his poetry have also been published, such as "Slow Burn" (4 Winds
Press) and "teardrop of Coloured Soul" (PublishAmerica). He has a BA
in Psychology from the University of Windsor and a Diploma in Sacerdotal
Ministry from the Saint Andrew Theological Institute. Chris resides in Windsor, Ontario, Canada.
