A black box of secrets, filled with mystery
Shrouded with shadow and veiled by history.
A tradition to lock it, not talk about it,
withholding a whisper, much less to shout it.
Caught up with perceived webs of shame
Looking around, but finding no one to blame.
The stain of guilt, embarrassment smears
blinding the eyes and closing all ears.
People dance around the box, saying
just imagination, on emotion preying.
What they can’t see because it’s too blunt
is that the key lies directly in front.