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Saturday, 29 March 2014

Poem: There are things we kept secret




you gazed at me from the corner of the eye
as I drifted miles away, dazzling thoughts and a tempestuous heart
every now and again, I get lost in this man-mad madness
as we sail this mortal coil
from out of that darkness, headlights appear
many have wandered down this path
always stopping at red lights
every passenger has his burden to carry
words said can't be forgotten
thoughts have a way of becoming an opinion, a critique
and they seem to glue themselves to our very existence
there are things we kept secret
after all the butterflies flew out from our mouths
but you seem to know the song I'm singing
and I give you my body to share its fragility and strength


*
Written for a poetry prompt by the real toads.

10 comments:

  1. Sometimes it is the secret worlds we build that make all the difference to life! I love the image of the butterflies flying from mouths - it sits so well just before your conclusion.

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  2. Love the visual of all the butterflies flying from our mouths. Great write.

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  3. some hard truths faced on life's journey and it's reassuring when someone to share secrets with knows the song i sing...'after all the butterflies flew out from our mouths'..love the line..
    '

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  4. Oh, this is painful and really beautiful. I adore the final line. :)

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  5. "there are things we kept secret
    after all the butterflies flew out from our mouths"

    That's gorgeous.

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  6. Such a great use of the prompt. Simple and extraordinaire. The blog theme is beautiful too. Compliments the post. :)

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  7. The butterflies flying out of the mouth.. there is such a fragility in those words... I agree there are secrets we keep...

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  8. i agree with everyone about the butterflies is the most creative and vivid use of the prompt I've seen.

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  9. Even with so many years of marriage I find there are secrets I will never share with my husband...or anyone. I too love the butterflies flying from our mouths

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  10. .. so many wonderful lines in your poem ~~ my favorite ~~ 'thoughts have a way of becoming an opinion, a critique and they seem to glue themselves to our very existence'

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