Secrets of the Past

Painted black are those secrets
Of things that never were
Secrets that catch the listener’s attention
As a victim weeps in a sombrous mood
Whimsical lies waiting to be created
From the slyness of the creator’s mouth
A whip lashes downward on the victims back
As secrets rush out to meet its high congregation
And already gone is the truth of words
From the victim’s past
Tomorrow yet will be a new day
And nothing will ever go back
Yesterday will still be there
And the secret will still lie awaiting to rest





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