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Devin Croteau Poem
The trees save our secrets in their leaves,
And the stars offer guidance to the lost.
Wear your heart on your lips, not your sleeves,
And walk with me, fingers uncrossed.
Copyright © Devin Croteau | Year Posted 2025
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Devin Croteau Poem
How can we understand each other's color,
When we use the same flavored word?
It's impossible to say it any duller,
And through our glasses the meaning is blurred.
To you something bright as the sky,
Will always strike me as navy blue.
With a fire truck we could try,
But to me it is simply maroon.
Something as distinct as a rainbow,
To me, a blurry line of tones.
Something as beaming as the snow,
Might quietly sit with the stones.
All I ask is that you don't judge me,
When my eyes can't shine like the moon.
Believe my words over what you see,
Because color is what drives every tune.
Copyright © Devin Croteau | Year Posted 2025
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Devin Croteau Poem
I'd love to listen, passion sung,
Words warmly from your tongue.
Oh the time, when beauty chimes,
And my heart is firmly strung.
Rhymes adopt a new confession,
Although those lines are fleeting.
We'll score the meeting, hearts loudly beating,
Love born where friendship's sprung.
Copyright © Devin Croteau | Year Posted 2025
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Devin Croteau Poem
Forced to visit all my fear -
In pursuit of inspiration.
But through collection all I hear -
Is I'm not long for aspiration.
Through careful words and softened voice -
I could reduce evaporation.
But do I trust subconscious choice -
With all my liberation?
That argument could give me face -
To point that accusation.
If it flees I'll have to chase -
And risk dissociation.
In looking for some clarity -
I could brave that isolation,
Gamble with fate for sanity -
And a chance at satiation.
Though with these words I must confess -
It's hardly a vacation.
I'm spawning thoughts that can't digress -
Months after observation.
In the end my mind will flood -
These words are precipitation.
My hope is it can wash the blood -
From my mental amputation.
Copyright © Devin Croteau | Year Posted 2025
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Devin Croteau Poem
Half an experience, being alone
Like living imagination
I freeze in protest, still as stone
Foretelling abbreviation
Copyright © Devin Croteau | Year Posted 2025
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Devin Croteau Poem
It is an unfortunate reality,
Those most able to tie word and misery -
Are most often the least spoken.
They are capable of divining the self,
Pulling out streams of emotion.
- Emotion that is far heavier than simple tears.
The words pull at their friends' heartstrings,
Puppeteering their empathy,
Taking all the warmth that they had too.
That's the curse of an ailed writer,
only knowing ink and page -
because paper doesn't cry.
Copyright © Devin Croteau | Year Posted 2025
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Devin Croteau Poem
There’s nothing more satisfying -
Than seeing clearly.
The sharpness of the edges -
Cutting through you,
Leaving you starstruck.
Inspired.
Blink and you just might miss it.
Rest and you may never find.
The speed of reality is self destructive.
Slowly, the lines start to blur.
Fluid motion becomes static image.
Your eyes lose focus, the light starts to stir.
You lose sight of what once lied before you.
Frame by frame, the truth within grows.
Slowly now, and unsavory,
Vision becomes what you can not bear.
One picture perfect smear.
Anxious, and forever still.
Close your eyes,
It’s eternity, after all.
What have you got to lose?
Copyright © Devin Croteau | Year Posted 2025
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Devin Croteau Poem
It’s half spoken, half empty.
Words covering words, weaving a blanket of madness.
Tears that can’t even reach the eye’s horizon -
There aren’t any more to cry.
Bury yourself and eventually you’ll forget -
But only until it’s most inconvenient to remember.
Once again lost, denying regret.
Freezing in snow storms - living in December.
You are covered, yet still you shiver.
The weight you bear is chilling.
It is clear you can’t find the strength to keep going.
You are falling beneath this blanket of words.
You are half empty, half spoken -
And you aren’t even at home within your own mind.
It snows blankets of words, broken -
Frozen solid and blind.
Copyright © Devin Croteau | Year Posted 2025
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Devin Croteau Poem
A mark of scarlet was the first,
Fitting of inferior character.
He was associated of plagues,
The name given of a tragedy.
The dead made a bottomless pit on him,
Rendered executed, the title of foundling.
Copyright © Devin Croteau | Year Posted 2025
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Devin Croteau Poem
It's funny. The mind goes there and back,
Switching between lyre to inspire -
And the sober thoughts of black.
If all I love is theory,
And if all I know is fiction,
Then why do eyes get teary,
To the tune of my prediction?
I could dream a thousand times,
And play the songs that flow.
If nothing else at least it rhymes,
With my heart and face aglow.
It's funny. The mind goes there and back,
Switching to inquire and tire -
All the sober thoughts of black.
It's far more fun to forget,
And to sing for what excites.
In ignorance it's nice to get,
A chance to see the lights.
Even if these words won't last,
I don't mind their stay for now.
Lyrics should be slow not fast,
We don't have to wonder how.
It's funny. The mind is taken aback,
Switching inspire to quiet fire -
And smoke's sober thoughts of black.
Copyright © Devin Croteau | Year Posted 2025
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