Secret Lives











When I sit at my desk in my secret life,

cloaked in hateful thoughts of memories

made by so many regrets and mistakes,

my soul is wrapped in weeping moments

of gloom. It causes my room to offer me

nothing more than a solitary fall of night.


The shadows reflection from city lights,

weave their images across my cracked

and decaying walls, offering nothing more

than boughs of truths that reflect back to

me from mirrors hanging there.


Despondency is my constant companion,

fearing to drive any hope of cheerful gain,

in it’s place only pain for my musings delight.


Though many disappointments peer through

my melancholic stage, my wine blood red flows

through me and like a dark cloud hanging over

it soothes me, keeping my secrets from the world

like a frozen lake waiting for summer thaw,

yet the many cracks in ice all around me leaves

me withered like a frosted dying rose.


Mornings come too early with fright, dreams fade

from my recall, yet like angels, come from

heaven on wings, they fill my room with their light

and silver shining. Cleansing the stale air with

their sparkling majesty.


An opening, just for a spell, gives me a peek of

heaven’s half veiled face, glowing with some hope,

when dark thoughts shroud my inner core, I am

lifted by it’s celestial grace forevermore.


© Copyright Vincent Moore. All Rights Reserved

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