Poetry: Aim by Wellington Lambert


For all our trinkets and rituals.

All our beliefs and fears.

Running to the end to leave it all behind.

If there is a price to be paid, the currency is madness.

If there is a level to be reached, the bottom is king.

All the reasons we dream up are just practice. 

Losing form and disappearing.

Echoing and bouncing in the darkness. 

The question is a fool’s errand.

The answer, a moving target.

Wellington Lambert lives in Kingston Ontario. He works as a visual artist sometimes using words to paint a picture.