River Poem by Chris G. Vaillancourt

The river runs slow today,
as do my thoughts.
Continents of ice collide and separate
over a grey green field of quiet water.
Snow falls at random.
Flakes swirl or streak as God wills.
As uncontrolled as my thoughts,
which drip around like scattered
pin holes in a lost and formless day.

I rage at self inflicted wounds.
Afflicted with terminal incompleteness.
I feel the cold of an empty being,
yet also the warm solitude of self.

I sense the labyrinth that leads to clarity
I reach for it, grasp for it, joyfully.

The river runs slow today,
as do my thoughts, thankfully.