What could I possibly do
with a secret
of any regard
low or high?
A secret that might have
come to me
riding a gale deliberate
or a breeze unsuspecting
May be I'll look at it
with curiosity, with intent
until it became familiar enough
to rouse contempt
Not the kind
to wag a tongue or a tail
Or feel encumbered
by the pressure to word it
Not given in to gossip
or high-tales at cocktails
Would the secret be
more or less of a secret
if it is slain
in some crevices
of my silence?
I have always been
tad more taken
to prefer void over fillings,
feeling over knowing
Afterall, what is
and what ain't
a secret
worth any standing
in the realm of mystique
that's the life
un-understood even for a moment?
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