Unspoken

Silken secrets in flesh and blood,
A door
To another world eternal,
Yet in violence do we rot our breath,
In pitiless exile we rot our brethren.
Sun stealers on high, though, still,
One must be darkness to
Hold a light.
So, then, do we know truth?
Ashes tell us of fires past as bones
Shatter in empty corridors.
As many hands as could have held a locket
Says London bridge may be more than a
Song after all.
We are more than broken tile?
One wayward glance,
Lock-pick;
Thievery is in my blood
Hidden behind a door.