Life · Poems


I don’t feel a single bitter streak
There’s a secret held between us
And in a sacred, twisted shriek
It may just choose to defile us

The sun and moon- they rise and fall
Like naked portraits on the wall
They dance before my eyes and I
Watch every day just turn to night

I don’t feel the touch of magic
There’s a festered secret between us
Almost painless but like a tiny prick
It may just choose to define us

The nightingale- she hears my call
And in the darkness imitates it
And silently but bit-by-bit
My life slowly translates it

I don’t feel a blessed hand on me
Just a cold, flat secret sitting still
And from far away a few frosty voices
Sing laments, sweeping in for the kill

The light and dark- they choose to stay
The truth eludes me; she is playing truant
And like a trump card tucked in far and away
The secret turns into an echoing chant.



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