Such Things We Say Poem by Singer Joy

Secrets were always,
(if perhaps not intended)
Meant to be retold.

Such beauty I wrote, once,
Thinking that you would appreciate,
Or at least reciprocate,
The kindness.
Yet in the NOW,
We regress.

Futures were always,
(if perhaps not intended)
Meant to be myst'ries.

Such rubbish you wrote, once,
Knowing the ill-bearing
(and later ill-faring)
This would bless.
And yet just HOW,
You couldn't guess.

Crying was always,
(if perhaps not intended)
Meant to be secret.

Secrets you murmured, once,
And then I understood,
As if I ever could,
The whole mess.
And I'd ALLOW
One ray the less.

Poems were always,
(if perhaps not intended)
Meant to bare your soul.

A verse we agreed on, once,
And then we forgave
Whate'er we left to crave
In syllabic stress.
Like a sylvan bough,
You let such words transgress.