The Secrets of the World

I never drank so deeply of your eyes

as I should have.

Instead,

I gazed out over the sea

and waited.

I never told you why.

Why I stood each day

through bright sun

and driving rain.

Through winter’s gale

and soft spring breezes;

gazing,

ever eastward

over the sea.

 

I was waiting for the whisper on the wind.

For the world has a secret

that can be heard

only by those who listen.

Only on the winds

that come off the sea.

So I waited.

While you grew up

and grew older,

I waited.

I listened to the wind

and heard the world

at long last

share its secret.

 

When I returned to you,

I found you shuffling in the dark,

muttering incantations,

bleeding out strange rituals

and imbibing tinctures of venom.

I did not recognize your figure,

but in your eyes I saw you pleading,

for you had wrenched a secret

from the world as well.

A dark secret,

of the kind paid for only with souls.

 

Then I succumbed to you,

finally.

I looked into your eyes

and drank of your pain

and your loneliness.

No more words fell from your lips,

so I whispered,

softly

and you listened.

And after a few years

I told you

the secret of the world,

but you had already gone from this one.

 

I sat silent

as a mountain

and held you,

never knowing

if in some ways

our secrets were the same.

 

HG – 2106

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