Secrets We Keep (poem)

(This poem succeeds where another failed, in the task of being about a relationship I've had a hard time putting in words.)

--

bs''d

Secrets We Keep
31 January 2017

When the corners all are cracked
and the mice don't know where to hide
the mountain is over my head
and all the choices, clothed in
deepest, unyielding, most beautiful of black,
don't even bother with pride
don't even bother to make themselves
heard,

i will shout at you with an organ pipe
till all of the copper turns blue.

i will pour out my emotions
and lift them to the lips of meaning
with a fork, and meaning will swoon.

i will rip the blossom of fear from the
grass
and show you that i forgot the roots
and you'll show me your blossom, too

and i'll never know if you also forgot
or just did what i showed you to do.

and maybe the black is really grey
or brilliant, glowing white

and maybe the colors we found today
are the colors of blackest night,

maybe the secrets we build today
won't be the ones that bring us delight
won't be the ones that give the sun light
won't even get us through this long, damp
evening,
(or is it morning,)

but to me, now, they are beautiful,
and the blossom is beautiful, too,
and i'm sure that those roots are beautiful,
and i'm sure that you are beautiful
and i'm sure I am beautiful, too.

e:

Flowers (poem)

Flowers
8 January 2017

It was never quite so clear to me
as it was to
the confident sprout, sticking its head
out of the dirt
the confident bud, collecting what it needs
through the dirt
the confident flower, showing its colours
over the dirt, sharing its seeds
which each holds only the secret
of the flower
and not of the dirt.

I never could quite see
where the author's message ended
and the message of the author began
and where the author ended
and the message for me began
and where the message for me ended
and my own message started to speak.

a dirt of many flowers
each forgotten, each unique.