Untold

There are stories that we tell, write, record. And there are others we create, but do not tell, lest they bring downfall upon the being. The following verses are about such stories, created, eager to be told but, like fear, should be kept in locked chestnuts.

Could they be the tumultuous
Ravens of the wild
Who come unforeseen into the
Unabashed lives of mine

To open the stitches of the past lost
To the habit of chasing fantasies, when
The feet should have trodden a path to redemption?
The somber leaf of being,
Unable to survive the betrayal of the chain,
Shackles broken, unearthing the infidel
Lies of affection, un-wrote stories to
Prove the worth of their absence
Absolved in the harmless pursuits of lust.

Impressed upon the damp earth after shower,
It pierces through drops dancing on the roof
Murmuring its crystal noise to the sweaters of the last winter
Like a strand of hair stuck upon a story
Untold, forever.