Moving Coloured Poem by Chris G. Vaillancourt

Moving coloured in
a too dark world
through the dingy corridors
of cigarette stained minds.
Heated balloons of ambition
have been instructed
to ignore the state of soul.
Focus instead on ambition
and loss of self-control.
Damp soap of cleanliness
constructing
internal situations
that are slipped by
the censors of the
un-desired.
Flags at half mast
for the death of
the art. Format
replacing expression
in a too dank scene
of
unblemished hypocrisy.
Moving coloured in
a too lost zone
where lizards gather to
lick the eyes of the dead
who have suffered not
in body but in mind.
Voices bleeping out
the words they do not
want to acknowledge.
Preference given to
deceits that are than
wrapped in pretty paper
and pandered to the masses
as words of wisdom.
Fulfilment becomes
acceptance. The lies
of conformity become
the religion of the people.
And somewhere, far from
the dark begging is a coloured
end that someone else will
need to define.Myself,
I am not worthy to
describe the emptiness that
blanks out the jumping
reptiles of disguise.
In full view of every
camera the picture
reveals
the tremors flashing
forth from inside.
Moving coloured in a
too un-assembled mind
forsaking every adventure
conforming instead
to the rejection of
the heart.
Somewhere else becomes
the method of existing
and what is left
but to deny the
panorama of desire.