4 June 2012
A human mind, a cursed thing,
is so defined by gifts it can bring.
A lonely thought. A solemn word
so scarcely bought and never heard.
It lives inside and slowly fades with every lie.
Imagination can run deep
and yet the act of silence does creep
suffocating every drop of faith and hope,
a slender end.
Next time, speak the truth.
You tell yourself you always do,
even I know those secret thoughts that hide in your mind.
The ones you use and keep.
The ones you deem too private for the world.
Next time, let them come.
Subtle Oblivion • Opuss № I