Let me tell you a secret

of a dance that is done
one song at a time
with short.
quick.
stops.
and.
an.
abrupt.
end.

and let me tell you of a poem,
with lines that flow like streams full of thoughts, through the poets mind, eyes, lips and mouth.

and let me show you picture
of
     the
           way
                   words
             can
    create
life
      out
             of
nothing.

Let me whisper a thought to you
that can travel
on a simple note.
a single thought.
and yet the most important, you see.

And If you were to draw a picture, would it be bright and cheerful?
Or if you were to write a song, would it be slow and tender?
Or a poem, rhythmic or timed?
Or a whisper,
a soft quiet word
with no intentions or thoughts of its own.
But, you see, A whisper can linger in the air, my friend
and a whisper is not ever left
unsaid.

So let me tell you a secret
you will not likely forget.
about a dance, a song, a poem, a rhyme,
And a promise that was not kept.

My skin is raw
from my hands
from the wanting and waiting
I put on bandaids
and tie my hands
to stop the pain
and redness
but even when I try to stop
I keep on letting my hands
rub my skin raw

30 or so days.
                        I don't know.
take a left here

only 30 days to reply
only 30 days to decied
           leave
              go
 your choice
Another left
left turn please
but its not
it someone else who
chooses
turn left here
please only left
What are you doing with your life?
I
    don't
    Know
what do you want?
 I
    don't
    know.
Where will you go?
 I
    Don't
    Know.
What will happen?
I
     Don't
     know.
turn left and drive on
can you feel the knife
I can
In my back
driving down my spine
turn left again
up this road
to the left
left
left
left
the more you wait
the worst things get
left turn
please
left
and drive through
I will find out
when I get there
to the left again
only lefts
with not one right
not
a single
right
Just lefts
left
left
and turn left
and right on through.

On the last house to the left
there is wall
a wall with a small shelf
and on that shelf
was an assortment of items
a small golden horse,
a single tulip in a blue vase,
a glass deer figurine,
a small box with a small lock,
and a slip of paper.
and on that slip of paper
were a few lines
and in those lines
were words

those words were just letters
those letters just lines
drawn on a paper
with ink
but those words have meaning
in each turn and corner of each letter
in each word
in each line
there was a memory
a thought
a wonder
a truth
that could change
and inspire
help and create

but just like that
it could change
in a choice in that word
but no matter what
that choice of word would be
it still is just a thing
a line and a curve
with a small memory or meaning
just like
the horse
the deer
the tulip
and the box
with a small lock

But the meaning of this line
is none other than the truth
and the truth
that mustn't be told
on this slip
on this shelf
on a wall
in the house
on the left
at the end
of the road