Secrets Poem by Elliott Rosenberg

Oh how those secrets whirl in my mind,
How they depose my well being strumming memories long gone,
To reveal each tale with a fairy wand,
As it's pain morphs in my watered eyes.

Guilt is predisposed to sense,
It looms in the cavity of touch,
It caresses our existence with spasm,
To give warmth to emptiness that explodes in our thoughtless mind.

I for one understand,
How this haunting feeling fades,
Takes up an odorless form,
Ascends to a fingered sky,
Devoid of birds,
Pointing its tributaries of blame to me,
A deflowered woman pressing forward in an honest bed.

Now this dream is a reality,
It tickles, it pinches, it pokes,
It truths from a furrowed glen,
Bleeds red and stains,
Leaving the family coat of arms sealed in vermillion wax.

The raven sees, it hears, it simply says,
Enough,
Enough to God,
Enough to man,
Enough to thought.

And so the ship sails at morrow,
Verging towards the horizon,
Where glow does not glitter,
Nor sin appear any wiser.
It simply disappears to a vast unknown,
A place where life is best burrowed at sea.

Now I walk tall on fresh pavement,
Await for it to dry,
No more footprints,
No more lore,
No more exhilaration,
Simply a new day,
All zippered up.

I turn half saddled towards an evasive future,
Bogged down with every stride,
Noosed at will by a surrogate imposition,
That my parents imbedded in me.

But they have no more austerity to give,
For dementia has evangelized their souls,
For i am a product of their execution,
Siphoned from a child's smile.

So my freedom is confined,
To a wilderness of precocious tendencies,
A world where sublime elements rule,
A place of forgiveness and rebirth.

And when winter thaws and springs lips open wide,
My secret will fly,
Fly faster than laughter,
Because there is no such thing as a secret.