They say some things are better left unsaid,
That some poems, are better left unread.
It’s best not to share all, I’m told.
Please conceal the truth.
My voice is stilled with a righteous gag.
They heard the truth, then stuffed that rag.
What I am is not what they will allow me
To be.
So, I’m left alone to wake at night,
And scream hard words of crisp starlight,
Onto the pale white pages
Of the moon.
But silence’s ruse is false at best,
People hear a bit and guess the rest.
For the moon’s pale light shines clearly
On my face.