The Secret
There are a thousand secrets
which cannot now be told
withheld in run-down hearts
and haunting tenebrous souls
He poured from the heavy bottle
that wine which was not blood
and broke the mouldy bread
to help soak the alcohol up
His life was changing shape
with the cut of floods and falls
all plots of pensions and peace
were not his
to now afford
He emptied that rattling bottle
of a pharmacist’s last count
and took his heartburn secrets
to a place upon the couch
No note
no one to read it
no confidences to be read aloud
Instead his pain passed silently
and his breath stopped in an hour