Untitled Poem by Chris G. Vaillancourt

I give you no title.
Why must one be given?
If so, let it be None
for that alone remains.

What is art
if nature its foundation?
Is it Truth, or a mockery thereof?
It is a mirror,
reflecting only?
I am not a flower, a sunset,
nor autumn's cool breath.
Only Man.
and my canvas reflects such:
decorated not with
images of Nature's untouched playground
but my congealed blood and
the tears of my life's not rain's tears.

Presume to mimic Nature,
what good can come?
Try asking the river to hold still!
The folly of barren souls
claiming to improve the sun;
It's subject not to touch or scrutiny.
Your blindness is evident
The point: echo not the melting snow and
the many starving squirrels
instead, reflect myself
(and of course you) .
Most of all, let us create
with all that we are, and
nothing we are not.
And so we return
from where we began,
untitled clouds dissipating.