No More Clouds Left To Grow Upon Poem by Chris G. Vaillancourt

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