Secrets

We know what you are afraid of…

… your secrets are already revealed:
the walls an older you wrote them on,
where you hide them now.

We have guessed them, gleaned them
From a thousand trivial words, your written answers
To the puzzles of a wired and wireless world…

…how could you think no-one would follow you
Down the streets and alleys of your curious life
To see in which dim cellar you presumed
To keep your ill-assorted soul concealed?

We know what it is you fear…

…and what you secretly hunger for,
Your qualms and passions, your phobias,
The sidelong glances of your desire.

We know your sicknesses and cures…

…your weeping sores and open wounds,
your deep and shameful sins beneath the skin,
and the hundred balms you find to smother them.

We know all of what was said…

…did you think the crowds to whom, of whom
you spoke would hear without judgment?
Perhaps they did, but we among them hear
And understand, and keep your peace.

We are the rulers of all you know…

…and you are subjects of interest
who will bow down in the heaven of things
before the gods and kings of this paradise
of promises which we alone can keep.

We will bring you lies to make them true… 

…so you believe in your darkest heart, without misgiving,
 nor reservation, with not the slightest doubt.

We know what it is you are running from
and what you run towards.

We know you better than you know yourself.

© BH, 2017

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This is poem 2 in a series of 4.  The sequence runs - Last Light Fading, Secrets, Revelation, You Told Us.

So this is how we are known. This is the Big Brother for today and we love, as Orwell said, Big Brother, just as we follow his petty wars, whirl live dervishes with our manic outrage against who we hate. And we tell it all in our online confessionals, post and tweet like pathetic canaries. Only, the ear behind the grille, listening, is a priest of a very different kind.

The image, by the way, is an outdoor cludgie at Easter Limekilns.