Secrets I have kept for years,
known only by my closest peers,
have been exposed again, it seems,
recovered from my deepest dreams.
I blink my eyes. Words come to light.
I tap my toes and they take flight,
perch on the page to paint a scene,
attract more words to go between.
Words meeting words, no more alone,
flesh to flesh and bone to bone,
in a sort of minuet,
mesh with words that they’ve just met.
They are the stuff of darkest night,
a glass that shatters in the light
filled with words that I drink in.
These words reveal where I have been,
and maybe where I’m going to—
word by word and clue by clue,
a sample of what I have hidden
that comes alive when it is bidden.
I quaff some more, this lust for word
and word and word grown most absurd.
A’s and M’s and L’s and Z’s
flow from my lips onto the keys.
Too soon I know that I will wake.
Exposed to light, the glass will break,
the words it holds evaporating,
ones that might have come abating.
Is it witchcraft or illusion?
My soul alone or in collusion?
We cannot know if words it gave us
are what damn us or what save us.
The prompt words are glass, blink, words, alone, paint, eyes, tap, secret, light, years, meeting and sample.
For the Sunday Whirl Wordle 526