My story is written in invisible ink,
seen only by the heat of the flame.
Be my candle this night and we shall read
each secret message, decipher all
the hidden words of my heart. Other eyes
have not glimpsed these lines; no spy
has learned the truths I wrote upon the day.
Read them for this ink will fade
in time, become invisible once again.
So are the words of those who lurk
along the edges of life, trusting few
to decipher what is written.
Stephen Brooke ©2015
Of course, when I am turning out lots of poetry I am not getting any work done on the next novel.