Some Special Secrets For No One To Know
Most of the content on this publication will never be fully explained, and some things will always be for mother only. This is sort of a poem, if you believe that nonsense.
Sidenote: This is also dedicated to all the dogs whom I owe a home out there, and to everyone who has ever highlighted anything on any of my poems, ever.
Like everyone else
I was born with this
Stupid dilemma,
That I somehow
knew myself.
And somewhere down the road
I forgot all I knew,
Gave up on the smelly pursuit of
Lonesome targets,
The flickering noise of
Burning lamps
And of the earth,
Dancing and shedding
Its blessed core.
You thought I’d say
Rotten, didn’t you?
Nah, that died boo.
What you see, is not me;
It’s something new.
It wishes to know the
Kind of magic
That Lily Potter knew.
That fears death not,
But casts bewitchments
Of love and whatnot,
Sets fire to the pain,
And plays with the shadows
Of visceral dew.
Like everyone else,
I wasn’t born with,
But grew up with
This crazy notion,
That I’d live forever.
Yes, they loved
And they cared
And they damaged
And they raised
A cute little,
Tom Riddle.
Too busy and
Too caught up
In laying schemes
To kill the kid.
Fearing death
With the stupid, stupid goal,
Of harboring feeble hope
Of someday defeating it.
All the time
All the live long day
Scheming and plotting
To kill the kid.
The kid meanwhile,
Never grows up.
Dies a couple times,
May be more than a few.
The kid just wants to know,
what Lily Potter knew.
I don’t remember
When I died, exactly.
Could’ve been the wolfbite.
Could’ve been that awful sew.
Could’ve been the time
When the songwriter flew
Into town on his
Chariot of champagne,
And broke my heart (that other one)
Over a crying damsel.
But your world had burned already,
Hadn’t it, mother?
You couldn’t have missed it,
The catcalls of vengeance,
Those damned voices,
Asking to be silenced.
You took half a forest,
Some bricks off an old town,
A galaxy of liemongers,
And one barefoot ape with you.
And I just want to know now,
what Lily Potter knew.
