Even The Sky Poem by Chris G. Vaillancourt

Morning finds the wind beating softly
against the rising sun.
Wraps my scarf around my neck
as I watch the squirrels
dancing on the hydro lines.

They do not feel me watching them.
The spinning shade hides my presence.

My thoughts have finally reached
decisions of withdrawal.
The forgotten distance everyone
will become is some sort of comfort
as I stretch my arms towards
the infinite eye of surrender.

Nothing changes in an atmosphere
of constant repurcussions.
Just like the hiding moon,
all of the doors are both
open and closed.

I will only state my point of view
to the hollow shadows that
speckle like underwear wrapped
too tight against the body.

Somewhere a siren is wasting time
blasting its noise against
the heat of the rising day.

Inside my ears I also hear
the angry words of so many
different tongues.
It is a struggle to keep
my composure, for I want
to scream my anger back
at them.

But this would be useless gestures
of compliance. It would be
giving in when I already have
decided to give up instead.

Even the sky seems to walk
away from me.