Plurality

Plurality

The suburbs of your Mind
Remind me
That beyond your lights
There are hidden compartments
That house secrets.
I have been trying to reach them,
Knocking on your red door
Which seems like a haven,
But this mysterious double door
Is rather covered in the blood
Of your struggles,
Your sweat the trail leading out
Of your urban city that devours me.
I sometimes get tired of searching for the truth
You are protecting.
I am usually in the rurality.
I have discovered all of them,
Since today, except one.
Yet, I have been patiently lurking at the outskirts,
Waiting to strike for the very last one.
But you hide it so well,
This last secret.
Why do you deny me this?
Why do you torment me with everything,
But this?
Do you know me, Mr. Dusk?
I have secrets too.
I have one, in particular,
You too are searching for.
I know.
You have gotten very hot before.
Why are we in this tug of war,
If we are not strangers to each other;
Give an inch and take an inch,
But never crossing the line?
Am I the only one left?
Or are we on the same side?
Finally, you meet me in the most
Rural area of all,
And say: “Trust, Ylena, I do not know myself,
Where I am keeping this secret
You seek.”
I retort, “Trust, Mr. Dusk,
It’s what I have had all along.”
Then, you give up,
You give in,
You let me tug all the way,
Until you fall in trust with me.
We then meet in the most
Plural area of all,
And make the best secret
Of all,
Another one,
Another one to Trust,
A New Dawn.