whisky

the darkest thing in a secret,
no secret to reveal,
the hidden depths of murky waters,
no stick with which to feel
the probing wonder of a mind away
from other thoughts, from other planes,
a higher level of existence.
secrets unrevealed.

then the honesty of an open mind,
unlocked, unclosed, unwritten
but said through bars that keep thoughts in
and reveal to external witness
through bars of metal
erected in the haste of a little thought night.
no secrets to reveal.

behind these walls and curtains,
behind these deadlocked doors,
the privacy of imprisonment,
no export-import thought,
nothing shared, nothing gained,
no story to tell in long gone nights
of nothingness and companionable seclusion.
a far sighted vision of ice and whisky
and laughing at memories
with people who share the memories
and recount the unlost tales
of wealth and enjoyment.

old stories told by candlelight
by old friends in winter nights
surrounded by silence and peace.
comfortable gaps in conversation
for a place to think and remember,
remembering the wealth of eternal companionship,
friendship, relationship,
unstressed, untense, unsaid and undiagnosed
but let to run on time.

or looking back in solitude
on memories only you know,
that whisky not so friendly now,
turned sour long ago.
the missed stories, the unshared adventure,
the gradual descent of misery
in a life turn away,
pushed away all the chances
to make that whisky sweet
and smooth and absent of longing
that claws the self made seclusion
of an old life lost,
of nothing gained,
of a perpetual wondering,
how, what, why,
but mostly why.