Funeral Skies And Melancholy Sun Poem by Chris G. Vaillancourt

Choices are options
not open for everyone.
Sometimes we are
victim to external
factors. We must
watch the decay
of funeral skies
and melancholy
sun litter the
boxes we are
travelling within.
We may blame
evil spirits or
decadent fashions
for the crumbled hats
we embrace. We may
look with scorn on
faces around us and
destroy our ambitions
with faultless pleasure.
Regardless, we are
pawns on a giant
chessboard of life.
Knights and castles
dropping hints of
what we should be
thinking, what we
should be feeling.
Cells of the body
are not of our control.
We must maneuver
through them like
strings cut from a
large ball of snow.
Always melting like
departing shadows
into the mountain
peaks of realization.
So for now, there
are only the tables
of wood filled with
the emotional garbage
we have been furiously
collecting. Forget about
blame. Forget about
regrets. Exist as if
a marching band was
parading across
the street in the
parking lot of
tomorrow's
picture frames.