My secret

Thanks be to thee, great Shakespeare, who art able to express everything, absolutely everything, precisely as it is–and yet why didst thou never pronounce this pang? Didst thou perhaps reserve it to thyself–like the loved one whose name one cannot endure that the world should mention? For the poet purchases the power of words, the power of uttering all the dread secrets of others, at the price of a little secret he is unable to utter … and a poet is not an apostle, he casts out devils only by the power of the devil. - Soren Kierkegaard, Fear and Trembling

First post, opening post, mayhaps a signpost

These real words flew, rose

through red bloody beats

against fallen air

their wings were true