A cacophony of secrets, a collection of hidden hopes.

Buried deep within, beneath mountainous slopes.

Descending underneath, riddles upon riddles.

Tied up in memories, played by obstinate fiddles.

 

Rooms of ancient tales told in dusty books.

Words in the crannies, meaning in the nooks.

Basements of abasement, lofts in holy light.

Dens of iniquity, rage and spite.

 

Darkness in the corners, cobwebs holding court.

Fighting for equality, building up a fort.

Wasted words of wisdom, written in the past.

Experience & talent, secretly comes last.

 

Grey may be the walls, the highest ceiling too.

From the tower – electricity, a lightening view.

Shards of broken glass, some dreams left in a box.

Trying to remember the whereabouts of socks.

 

© The Secret Poetess, October 2017

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