Treasure Island

Chris G. Vaillancourt

(April 5,1959 / Canada)

And The Circle Collects Its Own Release


It's a dark, strange troll that hops across my heart.
Limping in solitude through the yawning acres of departure,
encumbered by remorse.
It's been a long day and so I say,
'let the evil seep in, begin the funeral again.'

Sipping water from a broken cup.
Thirsty for knowlege of underwater life.
It's a begging of something grand.
Faces swarming like bees in a honey tree.
So I proclaim the end, and let the disapointment
be the circle of hope. I am facing the war.
Guns are rippling like sonic flashes of departure.
I wonder who will be tucking in the babies tonight?

Forgotten footsteps that I should have walked
are the only solace in an empty parking lot.
It's been a long life and so I say,
'let the permission slips fall to the ground.
Dream a dream of dreams dreaming of light.'

A wonderful interior view of red and yellow traffic lights.
I caress myself in the darkened room.
Growing anxious that the trolls will attack
the bridges of rushing stone.

I am a rock thrown like candy to the ground.
I am a moment in an hour glass.
I am fully aware of the depth of my soul.

It's been a strange thought, this hope, and so I say,
'let the webs be woven that will eventually
be my mask.'

Submitted: Wednesday, October 14, 2009
Edited: Thursday, December 03, 2009

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Comments about this poem (And The Circle Collects Its Own Release by Chris G. Vaillancourt )

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  • Marcus Mckinley (5/6/2014 4:17:00 PM)

    the release of life is inevitable. The remorse is merely a hand on your shoulder giving pause before leading you to the precipice. And, the few that knew you will view you in awe and sugar coat thier memories upon the ruins of bridge.

    well written (Report) Reply

  • Emu Getachew (10/14/2009 2:16:00 PM)

    Potent! your words jumps out in transition... regrets are underlining shadow of life not fully lived in my humble opinion...very powerful 10 (Report) Reply

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