The secret comes to me,
Like a flurry of grey leaves it is borne of nature,
And carried on the hot wind that’s sears the barren land of me.
It is too hot to cry,
And though I try, the scorching heat makes powder of my tears.
The leaves blow on around me,
Confusing me, mixing everything in time.
They spiral in a whirlwind and form a crown of darkness,
That winds around my head;
An ever-tightening band of untold truths.
Of the tears I cried for you?
They were a waste.
They fell in mist and burnt away before I even caught your eye.
They dropped past stares so cold and long,
And drained my heart so dry it crumbled in your hand.
And when I wept for you, there was no point.
You’d gone before the desert rocks had mounded on my soul,
And crushed my hopes into eternal sand that blows as secrets in the vapour of my empty hope.
