It is only the darkest of nights where our secrets are kept.
Hiding away in the dampest of places.
No stone to be turned, no porch to be swept.
Just secrets kept under tongue and shoe laces.
Coughing and bitter the air circles round her
Joyous at souls morbid defeat
She rumbles and quakes and cries a soft murmur
Knowing good and well she’s been beat
In fragment, unwoven, a tapestry
Made of life stories it hangs on the wall
Not yet complete but mere history
The future will bring a close to it all.
Until then she stands, wishing past to be shed
Mouth open, feet dirty she stands with them bare
In a room full of secrets and pieces of thread
She knows that the darkness will keep her there.
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