Soul Walk Poem by Chris G. Vaillancourt

Naked internally.
Doing a soul walk.

Finding trash.
Should have thrown most of it out.

Each day a new perspective.
Pain of yesterday carried on.

Burnt out bulbs in the lamp
suggest ambitions not followed.

Strange shadows that
shift around the corners of
my vision as I look out into
the uncertain dream of a future.

Decisions that I made
may not have been in my
best direction.

Storm of rising frustration.
It defines my state of art.

Places I will need to
confront in order to surpass
the failure of mental reservation.

People I will need to
reconcile with in order
to move ahead in new direction.

I hate to cry.
Something a man is taught to never do.

I turn my face inwards.
Pretending raindrops are
on my face.