You would not think I knew the storming grey seas; <br />The turbulent awakening of feelings gone sour inside. <br />And the waves lap like crystals fading in the sky. <br />They call me to rush into points of view untried. <br />So I must make some sort of a choice, some sort <br />of a decision which will determine my living daze. <br /> <br />It hints at me like wood burning in a backyard pyre; <br />This haunting of thought that inflicts my waking hours. <br />I am only what I care to do, only what I want to believe. <br />For every man must make his place, his meaning to be. <br />And not a word can be offered in humbled solace <br />that would erase the vision each man must create. <br /> <br />Some would wonder at my lethargy, some at my tears. <br />Some might question my boundaries or my fences. <br />And no matter what the answer, I must be what I am. <br />For each man is truly one, truly in individual stand. <br />So I find I must be something, and that something <br />is all I can do in this weary tumbling sort of world. <br /> <br />The cat sat on my lap, one hundred per cent content. <br />I stroked its body, scratched its ears. And still I found <br />that even with it present, I was living in my own soul. <br />And thus it must always be, this breaking aching pole <br />which I must climb at once. For when I reach the top, <br />I shall see the land of images I am meant to perceive.<br /><br />Chris G. Vaillancourt<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/storming-grey-seas/
