Grave Secrets

Sometimes there are things that happen to us, in the world, that we wont ever talk of - they are secrets, prideful and embarassing, would we take it with us to the grave death is a much more suitable event to letting others know. Sometimes though we forsake ourselves with lies, other times we hurt those whom we care about the most by the truth of our solemnity. Either way someone is going to feel pain, and another one is to feel shame. Is there any agreeable circumstance to convey those deep-laid rotten eggs of harsh necessity? If I tell those of my hidden morosities, will they be malnourished on the ill-repute of my previously spotless behavior? The truth must remain a secret, I say, and let it be judged by whom cannot be judged. When I die, then all my despicable monsters can be loosed in the open fields of bone and my skeletons hanging in the clos't with dried rivulets of smeared away blood. The grave is a subtle place, it doesnt ask questions and it doesnt play child games. Therefore, I can admit myself freely to its purging fires, right before the cleansing rain.