The untold stories of lost devotion,

kept safe in a book,

stored in your deepest wound.


There they rest until you need them most,

forever at peace with the rhythm of your beating heart.

Day by day they remain untouched:

You feel no need to unleash what’s bottled up inside.

You are afraid.





--

The haunting that is separate from the rest of your memories,

a caged beast.

a misunderstood animal.

It waits in vain for it’s final days of solitude.

It wants to be free.

All the time it stays shut out it grows...

angry...

sad....

It is alone.





--

The others who keep their own books,

their own demons inside themselves.

They are petrified,

of what’s to come,

of what they will reveal.

Today they pick up a dusty key,

put it to the lock,

twist,

turn,

it’s open.

They are gone.