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Best Poems Written by Timothy Gaudette

Below are the all-time best Timothy Gaudette poems as chosen by PoetrySoup members

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I Have a Headache

I have a headache because I overslept. 
I overslept because I did not want to wake up. 
I did not want to wake up because there is little here that I enjoy. 
There is little here that I enjoy because what is here is fake and I am real. 
Am I real?  
Is Alchemy real?
I have a headache because I overslept.

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I Cannot Sleep, But I Am Always Dreaming

“What time did you go to sleep?”
“I didn’t sleep.”
“What did you do all night?”
“Suffer, as I always do. Suffer in ways I still cannot put into words. The best way to describe it is to tell you that I feel. I feel. I feel too much. I feel that nothing is predictable anymore, and nothing will change, until everything changes. I feel like I see what others don’t. I sense an urgency behind my minds quest to answer the questions around me, while I feel that I already have the answers, I’ve just misplaced them, or they have been hidden from me. I feel as if I am the answer to the questions of others. I feel like god.”

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Family Ties

Looking into her eyes I find myself thinking of her sister, imagining the pain they will both suffer when they grow older. 
To think these girls will not find each other in life is ignorance, and to think they won’t resent those who made it impossible for them to be in each other’s lives is madness. 

Fire begat flames
Soot coated remnants of family ties 
Burned like a star
Silence encompasses the weary

I give you my strength child, though I do not know you. 
I give you my sins, those that I do not owe you. 
I feel your presence such as one feels tension in a hostile environment;
Such as one would feel a migraine
Such as one would feel pain from an amputated limb, a confusion of nerves
Such as one would feel love
Such as one would feel afraid
Such as one wouldn’t feel anything.

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Non Ducor, Duco

I am a creator of life and death, thoughts and fates, stars and voids. I was born with the purpose of guidance and creation, sculpted from the cosmos to carve destinies into man. 
My home is that of a desolate chamber in which one hears echoes of screams and prayers, reverberating from all directions, inescapable.  I feel pain for those affected by my omnipotence. I feel envy for those who ignore my pull, and lust for those who push back against my will. 
Though I am not god, I know thee well. 
My past is long, my future foretold and overbearing. Perpetual. Repeating. Repetitive. On and on and on and on. 
My spirit is the essence of all men. I am necessary for not only evolution but existence itself on a conscious level. I shape and strengthen the ego, though I also shatter the soul. 
My soul, forever ambiguous, is tethered to the man within my grasp, and as I shape and strengthen I am curious and doubtful, for my own ego is malevolent and my own essence ethereal. 
Though I am not god, He and I are born from the same spool of matter, woven into the same thread of life.