Late into the night where the shadows fall, <br />there to be found the secrets <br />of all the pain kept locked in a jar during the day. <br />Lights glisten with unending glow <br />of temporary words spoken by <br />strangers passing by. <br />Moon stands pregnant in the sky <br />surrounded by the stars <br />who show no concern <br />for the walking outlanders rushing <br />undressed into the wind. <br />Noises flutter in the breeze of the night <br />caressing pictures of stationary silhouettes <br />kept solid in the dream they survived. <br />Late into the illusion comes the dancing <br />mockers insisting that everything real must <br />be discarded so that the pretence of reality <br />can be surrendered to the soldiers of time. <br />I'm aching in body where the disease has struck <br />which has opened my eyes to the serenity <br />of dying. Dark images tenderly drown <br />themselves in buckets of blood that have been <br />left lonely on the porch. Open the door and <br />let the shadows come in. Let the jumping jacks <br />begin their playing while the blankets of deceit <br />are thrown casually upon the blooming plants <br />of destruction. At the corner of my mind is <br />the truth I have been hiding which now arrives <br />with force unknown to me. I am strangled. I <br />am defeated. There are no more clouds left to <br />grow upon.<br /><br />Chris G. Vaillancourt<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/no-more-clouds-left-to-grow-upon/
