The Things We Dare Not Tell

"The Things We Dare Not Tell"

                                        ~ Henry Lawson

The fields are fair in autumn yet, and the sun’s still shining there,

But we bow our heads and we brood and fret, because of the masks we wear;

Or we nod and smile the social while, and we say we’re doing well,

But we break our hearts, oh, we break our hearts! for the things we must not tell.

There’s the old love wronged ere the new was won, there’s the light of long ago;

There’s the cruel lie that we suffer for, and the public must not know.

So we go through life with a ghastly mask, and we’re doing fairly well,

While they break our hearts, oh, they kill our hearts! do the things we must not tell.

We see but pride in a selfish breast, while a heart is breaking there;

Oh, the world would be such a kindly world if all men’s hearts lay bare!

We live and share the living lie, we are doing very well,

While they eat our hearts as the years go by, do the things we dare not tell.

We bow us down to a dusty shrine, or a temple in the East,

Or we stand and drink to the world-old creed, with the coffins at the feast;

We fight it down, and we live it down, or we bear it bravely well,

But the best men die of a broken heart for the things they cannot tell.

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Came across this poem unexpectedly and boy did it hit hard. 

The pain in my heart for the things I cannot tell... 

The thing I don't want to acknowledge to myself

The thing I don't want to feel, yet cannot bear the thought of not feeling,

The thing I thought I'd never feel again, 

The thing I thought I'd never feel ever, 

The thing that came out of no where and swept me up like a whirlwind,

The thing that probably, almost definitely only I am feeling... (and how that hurts my heart..)

The thinf that a small part of me wishes he was feeling too,

The thing that most of me can't bear to want him to feel too,

The thing that I can't make happy even in my wildest imagination,

The thing that was born to die, twisted and alone... Why give birth to a child of such sorrow. Why?

Everything in life is meant and brought to us by our own desires and creation. I believe this with every fibre of my being.

So at some point, I or my higher self, called this deformed child to life. Why?

Dear Universe, I'm not strong enough to wish this dead, so today I ask for clarity and discernment in determining the why. Why did this come to life?

Thank you for answering me. ❤️