Touching My Soul Poem by Chris G. Vaillancourt

Touched my soul,
Reached my love,
And felt its hands
pushing me upwards.

Social mobility.
Looks that kill.
Marked for life.
Self-created nobility
knocking me backwards
to the front.

Insisted on genocide.
Could be only one way!
Refreshed on homicide,
more and more, held at bay.
Till the hounds and wolves
of silent haunted homes
grew daffodils for fruit.

Dreary day.
Listless confusion.
Aggravated by
religious adventures
that left no touch on me.
Though they came and
warped the views
I had looked at.

I want to take you home.
Though, you may not like it.
You may insist I am in love.
(though not with you)
Though you are nice,
sometimes.

Stoic stares.
Heavy glares.
The lights of desire lost
burning freshly in here eyes
as she reaches out for me
in a dark room.

I have forgotten her name!