Frolicking In The Cave Of Cold Poem by Chris G. Vaillancourt

Is it cold in here?
Do you feel the chill?
This strange inhibition
that filters in my spine.
Calling me home.
But where is home?

Is it the marital dwelling,
with young children and wife?
Or perhaps the childhood place
with parents and siblings?

Or the home of now,
alone and perpetually being
frozen behind the flesh.

It seems a long time
since I was normal.
But what is normal?
Who defines it, really?

We're taught to huddle
in frames of conformity.
There is a great fear
of the individual.

Slices of paradigms
control our
awareness.

We are only afraid
of being afraid.

Still, the crisp light
calls me to it.
Inviting me to
be as I have
always been.

Fear is normal.
So is being unafraid.

Washing my hair,
I cleanse out the dirt.
So too with my life.