To Secret Grief

August 6, 2018

Every step is a funeral march

Every tear, an ocean

Each drop of blood, a holy war

And the mask I wear

Is treason

 

Hand over mouth

Muffled sobs of the kidnapped

You see my frame

But I’m not here

I’ve been stolen away

Elsewhere

 

Is the quiet daily dirge safer?

Am I honoring the broken one within?

Has my silence now betrayed her?

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