Atmosphere Poem by Chris G. Vaillancourt

Solitude. Alone.
Either or.
A day spent
conversing with no one.
Not lonely.
No. Not lonely.
Rather
at
peace
with
my piece
of the atmosphere.
It is good, regardless
of
the
pattern
of the thoughts.
Drift and flow
like bits
of paper
fluttering
in the breeze.
I remember.
Remember so much.
Times
of
significance.
Times
of
nothing.
No worry lines
frolic across this face.
Resigned. Faithfully
understanding
the
diagnosis
of coming attractions.
So you are told
you are to die.
Maybe that is true.
Maybe it is not.

Winds casually hitting
the balcony window.