Carrying Our Secrets

It’s just a round-about way
of saying nothing with meaning
…or true intent vibrate
In the distance I can hear the song
There is a dullness in the roar,
and when the dust is kicked up
and no one settles in,
bullets will be a blazing – glory
It really won’t matter what pocket
you carry your version of Jesus in
Left or right handed manipulator
fly’s solo wing span reaches out
and grabs the core of your heart;
grabs you deep until there isn’t
anything left to sink your fingers into
And the teacup you hold
so poetically drops to the floor
tiny splinters of perfection
splash across glistening translucent tile
Rolling thunder drifts out and off the shore;
far, far away and dissipates into an abyss
of all that was kept on the down low
When truth and deception were
as close as Siamese twins
attached by the purity of their genitals
A symbolic way to keep the other honest
keeping the faith and straight forward thinking
What remains to be seen or felt
when the lid is slowly lifted off the cardboard box
perforated illusion creases rippling score
from Heaven and Hell releases all the pain
and a self serving glory – to its own demise
And the Angel’s wings will flutter compulsively
and fly against the destruction of ancient lore,
while seductive smoke and fiery cinder carrying our secrets
out to the depths of a cold and everlasting sea

© 2015 TrilbyYates

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