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