An Old Word

under the gliding hands of secrecy
it lies

beneath the thick scratched cover
stream misshapen bruises and maps of grazes
painted onto a chipped brain

on a moon coloured page
floats silent laughter
drenched in the purity of its blooming happiness

in a scribbled paragraph
sit quiet red eyes
simply opening to tell

through a line of technicolour ink
weave vivid smiles and lifted faces
stripped down to the brutally sweet truth

in one word
lies it all
as I lie and live it all
pouring myself
into an old word
read in a reminiscent tongue