Where do the Secrets Go by TheReapersStylist, literature
Literature
Where do the Secrets Go
Where do you think the secrets go
Those you think alone you know
Are they hidden under lock and key
Unless you will it, never free
Or are the whispers whispering among themselves
Dusting off long forgotten shelves
In the deep crevices of our mind
A treasure we all can find
Whispers merging with all we know,
So where do you think the whispers go?
They go on.
Tethers of the Heart by TheReapersStylist, literature
Literature
Tethers of the Heart
Tethers of the Heart
An old man in an old field, weary, beaten, broken
Soft breaths so shallow, so deep, whispering words seldom spoken
Eyes closed, fluttering, still
Blind to the field and the night's cold chill.
Though the words spoken were silent, soft, and quiet
They spoke of terror, an inside riot
Spilling secrets with barely a sound
Infusing them with the deep profound
"There he lies, cold, buried, dead,
Gone not from ailment, but from murder instead
I pulled the trigger, and then he was gone
Past all barriers he trekked on and on."
"I fought for what I thought was right,
I did what I could with my narrow sight,
But still I am stric
Whenever I place a pen to a blank paper
I pause like a diver on a high diving board
Looking down at the waters below, so far away,
So far removed from the casual air of everyday life
I take in one last breath of normalcy
I bend my knees, preparing to jump,
And I plummet into my soul, so far away.
Sometimes the decent is marked by angry white
Bubbles streaming from the mouths of tortured thoughts
The days gone by seek retribution, it seems,
As it tries to alter my writing, making it sad.
Surely, surely this must be hell
Blinded by anger, jealousy, remorse,
Surely, surely, this must be hell
Drowning in convictions, my own self-doubt,
This is a monument to trash,
To junk and garbage and little scraps,
Built out of the filth that would otherwise poison
Our Earth, our home, our campus, our lives.
For everyone involved I dedicate this monument,
For the University of Utah I dedicate this monument,
For the families harmed by pollution,
For the animals dying because of it,
And for the lost memories buried here
The foregone thoughts wasted in the waste
The memorable article, the old birthday card,
The bear with the stuffing all over the floor.
This is an ode to filth
And this is ode to its inevitable cleansing.
Open mouth too clogged to breathe
And whisper those the whispers
Of final farewell
Of last wishes
Of things too long unsaid
Open hands too knarred to grasp
To give unto them who stand there
Gifts of soft sentiment
Gifts of ill repute
Gifts of the heart too long ungiven
Open eyes too weak to see
The blur is the mist of those still there
See them as they are
See them as they were
See them in light too long forsaken
Open