Strange That The Shadows Do Not Linger Poem by Chris G. Vaillancourt

Walking,
strange in the moonglow of mystery.
Memories jarred. Reflections bleeding.
Eerie emblems of mesmerizing
faces. Shouting
'we cannot hear you anymore! '

Dreams spring from the sounds of
a silent celebration. Survival
depends on how fast we seize
our ambitions. Failures
clocking up like flags
at half mast. Jumbled contradiction
of flowing hatred. Blood soaking
into the carpet. It's yours.


Faith exists, but we are faithless.
Not caring if we have to be brave,
or beware the hurting needles
pricking our hearts. Walking in
streaming fissures that open beneath our
feet. Strange that the shadows do not
linger.
Instead they grow. Increase,
decreasing our concern for one another