Skeletons
A poem of secrets
Hidden in the cupboard,
the secrets and the lies,
lie undiscovered skeletons
in elaborate disguise.
Whispers blown in the wind,
muffled words too hard to hear,
A mysterious ethos,
when truth was never clear.
And as life drifts away,
the skeletons well concealed,
clothed in shame and stigma,
could never be revealed.
Would life have been better
if the bitterness was exposed,
secrets saved from the children
the truth never disclosed.
As a child I was curious
of the hush and mystery
and like a junior sleuth,
keen to learn the history.
I found some hidden secrets,
Dad’s guns wrapped in oilcloth,
cold metal in my small hand,
could spike my father’s wrath.
Why was my mother crying?
what was the pain she couldn’t bare?
there was no chance to ask her
and none of us would dare.
Some history is mystery,
the tied tongues and guilt,
skeletons in the cupboard,
the myths where lies are built.
©
David Rudder
25th July 2020
Thank you for reading.
