I haven't learned the secret,
save to know that it exists.
I would tell you more about it
if it wouldn't break a promise.
Beyond its weighted words,
I can't be sure it can be heard
but I can tell you how it feels (or so I'm told).
It burns and, though it's searing, it feels cold.

Every once in a while
Tears slip
Sometimes small and quick
Other times full and flooding
The longer they're held in
The harder they fall

Every once in a while
Words are screamed
Smetimes meaningless
Other times full of rage
They longer they're held in
The louder they are

Every once in a while
You fight back
Sometimes never touching
Other times you destroy everything
The longer it's held in
The tougher they strike

Had I told the sky
of your wisdom and importance
it would have taken the sun
and clouds and stars and moon
and draped them over you
like a canopy spun of silk.

what does a house become
if left unattended?
en empty shell,
darkened inside,
a place where emptiness takes root
and grows,
slowly destroying
the hopes and dreams of the builder
from the inside.
black windows look out
as dead eyes of a corpse
stare at the abyss,
unmoving,
uncaring.
it is a house without a soul.