In the deepest, darkest parts of me, <br />where illuminations cannot intrude, <br />there I seek that inner peace. <br />The solitude of silence that neither <br />demands nor insists upon communication. <br />I can be a book unread. <br />I can be a cold that does not heat. <br />Anything is possible. <br />Everything is plausible. <br /> <br />In the wildest, dangerous mind I have, <br />I can create the types of illusions <br />I want to be my mantra. <br />That public face of laughing man <br />who wants to be left alone. <br />But is that true? <br />I suspect not. <br />Rather, a silent mind that despairs <br />it has no purpose as it <br />gathers through the day. <br /> <br />Sometimes it is better to leave the <br />impressions of life behind. <br />Instead, draw a black and white <br />picture of stick people all <br />lined up in rows cutting their lawns. <br />Hear the birds flapping their resistance <br />over the heads of the <br />stick men and women. <br /> <br />Aren't we all wearing the same disguise? <br />Don't we hide the same sins <br />from one another? <br /> <br />In the deepest, darkest parts of me, <br />where illuminations cannot intrude, <br />there I seek that inner peace. <br />The solitude of silence that neither <br />demands nor insists upon communication. <br />I can be a book unread. <br />I can be a cold that does not heat. <br />Anything is possible. <br />Everything is plausible.<br /><br />Chris G. Vaillancourt<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/communication-22/
