Secrets


 

 

 

 

 

 

The depth of my soul cannot be measured by the lack of currency
in my possession.
The coins of your success do not notch failure in my heart, which
lies forever in your thoughts.

Many talented Golem walk, wander the streets of cities, such as
Nashville and Toronto, convinced of their importance. They light
the pages of the military’s internet.
They are not my army. But your conscripts into the columns, churning
towards honey and God amid the eternal dust.

The secret you keep from everyone is: nothing you have or possess
will be kept safe; everything will be taken, everyone lost is already found,
nothing you task is sacred or profound.

I am the thief who has stolen these moments, remaining
unconvinced the poet’s garret suggests anything, but the poverty of
your own inabilities you please yourselves to call imaginations.

More wealth is mine than you could dream. And that is how I keep
the world of your possessions, with a benediction and a song: a heartbeat.

Dance now, in your cage of bones, as the flames burn higher. Don’t
ask me to help when all along I have done what I can, offered sustenance:
thrown all things up in the air the better to be seen.

And all you’ve done is to dispatch the crows to steal the shining stars
and pretty things you could never hope to own.

This is the embrace, the kiss you have been waiting for: a secret even
now you have lusted after, and towards.

There is no end.

©Dean J. Baker

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