Skeletons

secrets

old and buried

stories never told to anyone

too deeply underground

desiccated

covered with a carpet of lies

covered with a blanket of self-delusion

the youth we were

the myths and legends

we convinced ourselves of

it Was the way it was

no questions

how complicated life is once the web is wound

and we are caught in sticky tendrils

of our own extrusion

struggling for a moment

then giving in to the inevitable

it becomes easy to erase the realities of the past

and blanket them with sweet nothings

they become like ancient puzzles

pieces worn

edges chipped and rounded

lost memories packed away

in the attic of childhood

the picture no longer whole

shapes purposely whittled away to fit

the narrative we chose

and what of Truth?

what of the bright and shining verities?

the open innocent candor?

ghosts materialize before our eyes

their shades displaying forgotten honor

the death of love and trust overshadowing

sparkling lie

distracting all with a believable fiction

and that’s what we lived with all these years

only now recognizing what we’ve done

the righteous reality revealed

in all its unremembered splendor

we were innocent once

but took that to the grave

of our youth and indecision

we made up our minds

to remember the alterations

not the original garment

like making a disguise

out of costume

out of whole cloth

like a naked emperor

whose story is finally done

© 2019 pamela twining