Every closet is filled with secrets,
Shadowy ghosts from a distant past
Kept locked away from prying eyes
As though revelation will destroy
The pristine perception we serve up
as image,
Not wishing to show our seamier
side,
Not wanting the world to think too
unkindly
The fact that we may have something
to hide.
Where do secrets go when unspoken?
Why do we utter in whispers so low
That only one set of ears captures
their caption?
Why speak at all if no one should
know?
The truth of the matter...
The proof in the pudding...
The secret of secrets is
Hidden like gold.
Secrets... Dark secrets
Are only a myth,
And no one knows of them
Until they are told.
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