HONEY POT

> <<

The uncomfortable truth

like a swollen river flooding

carries purpose with waste

and a tune you may only whistle

<<< >>>

No one can hold a soft, black moth

or a paper fly in a calloused hand

without damage or bruising conscience

it’s a deceit you are forced to learn

>><<

That face I love has grown older now

innocence creased, wan and leathered

it still holds the memory that burns

worth more now the envelopes open

<><>

Things go with you to the grave

not just secrets, lies or murder

words unspoken, silent confessions,

quiet prayers queuing for an answer

<> ><>

In that velvet, purple journal

love’s treasured moments rest

they glisten in their infancy

colours of a pheasants chest

<>< <><

Lives lived with faces to the wall

harsh choices made in haste

loyalty a dark knight, 

filiality a burnished, beaten sword

<<> <>>

Hold it tight together

your arms wrapped round it’s chest

what’s good, what’s brave, what’s honest

dressed in gold, a silken vest

> <

                                                                                                 writtenbyedenbray27.01.2017