Minions of Truth

In the early hours
I told my pillow
Secrets locked within
For seasons and years.

They tumbled from my lips
Pooled in the twists
Of my bedding
Staining the still night air.

Once released
Secrets refuse a return
To the former confines
Of their lonely cells.

They scurry along the floor
Hiding within folds of drapery
Within my empty shoes
Behind the dresser
Everywhere.

They work toward the hallway
Making for the front door
To flagrantly display
My petty ways
My bold assertions
My unskilled machinations
My ugly avarice
My tawdry desires.

I regret giving them voice.

Since it is impossible to arrest them
I busily construct excuses
Manufacture reasons their assertions
Are without merit.
I must deny the authenticity
Of their claims.
I will laugh them off
As though their accusations are silly.

Clearly
The worst thing a man
May do to himself
Is give voice
Albeit quietly
To the shadows of his soul.

They never go away.
They simply become irrepressible
Minions of truth
From which their is no escape.