The Diary

              
The moon sits          
fooling the birds              
and the poet in her feeds              
choosing the right words              
to bleed the madness              
before dawn turns stars              
to dust              
           
The right words              
from darkest silver forge            
gifted to the sleeping world              
lines no child should read             
her secret wretched heart              
a muse for deaf ears              
           
Once she built castles              
out of years              
each decade a fortress              
inked in tears              
but then there were no walls              
though she never saw their fall              
           
Her truths      
the cruellest honesty             
always locked safely        
in that drawer              
where none of us thought    
to look