FORTY-EIGHT YEARS

Poem about locked-away secrets.

         I used to be better at holding them back,
         The noises and voices alive in my head.
         Forty-eight years spent blocking the door,
         But they keep coming back, wanting more and then more.

         Time is my nemesis as I grow older.
         I weaken, they strengthen, are bolder and bolder.
         Louder and prouder, they force their way in.
         Forty-eight years --- now I think they may win.