Who are we, to be such victims and fools?
So prone to deception and so willing to trust.
The secrets we keep and the rules we break,
Some day, a mess of us they'll make.
There's always someone watching,
Always a hopeful, listening ear.
A talkative mouth,
Or a disloyal confidante,
Secrecy and deception have become such an art.
Though why it's an art I cannot say,
Surely we know all secrets come out one day.
And when they do, all the leverage piles up,
We begin to fall, hopeless,
Desperate,
Stuck.
And then we realize,
Slowly at first,
That we're to blame.
Our own discretions the very causes
Of so much pain and so much trouble.
So if ever a secret you must keep,
At least keep it well, hidden and deep.
Remember though, in the end,
All tales are told, and all the darkest stories said.
YOU ARE READING
A Book Of Rhyme, Rhythm, And Time
De TodoThis book is a collection of loosely organized ramblings - they resemble poems, but aren't structured to be poetry. Raw emotions from the thoughts and life experiences that afflict an average girl's everyday life, these are unfiltered, and as authen...
