What is your locked inner truth?
Hidden within your locked house,
Its most secret roof.
Behind the locked doors, the shuttered windows,
While outside a howling wind blows,
And owls warn the bowing moon.
What hovers over you in the grainy slumber?
When the entwined take flight and leave their lovers arms.
In the black of night, when creeping cats creep,
The tired eyes sleep,
And all the children dream.
We all have our crosses to bare, skeletons that stare,
And keep our closets grave.
Perfection is as dust is to dust,
As it collects upon the skull
The head be bowed by a mournful lull,
And ashes, our dying shame.
We fear the judging crowd, their bleating too loud,
Wool be the secrets as wool be their shroud, and tossed to a flawless breeze.
Their tar and tainting brush no grey area touch, walk upon mirages of mountains to plains.
But their cotton be rotten, their fields be trodden,
And black as a threatening cloud.
Time will always tick her wilting clock and buds we all but are,
Shortest time to flower, before the cloaked scythe does tower, and cut,
We flower no more.
Do not let your truth stay hidden,
Nor remain in the saintly prison, before the final call.
So in your final hour, before the hooded tower and the gleaming scythe pauses the last hand.
When the calling wind howls fall to grass and hush,
When silenced be the owl and with sunrise eyes it warns it’s warning no more.
Be sure your demons are buried,
And truth, has opened your door.
Copyright © 2017 Charlie Hasler.