Mysteries-

They told me not to, but I inquire.

Why the rivers run red with blood-

But no one sees.

Smoke and mirrors.

Is what you see what is truly there to be seen?

The black shadow, did you see it?

I didn't.

They told me not to; I'm not supposed to.

Truth becomes water you hold in cupped hands

Trickling down quickly, even as you try to hold on

As a dream that fades too fast

As soon as you wake up.

Or a dirty cigarette

Dropped from scarlet lips and ground into the earth;

Hidden in dirt.

Dirt that matches your mind, your conscience-

You are unclean.

The blood is smeared on the mirror

As the rest is on your fingers

As you see only your reflection-

And only a piece, if that.

Perhaps a mask?

The walls flow red with blood

Against sultry black ignorance

But don't tell,

For I'm not supposed to know.

So I don't.

Do you?