I keep them all in a little black book now,
where I write them down, when I see or I hear them;
before, before I knew Truth,
they came in, settled in, lived, multiplied their bastard children;
swept out the attic, unpacked, and, perhaps, scrambled some
fresh farm eggs for breakfast.
Like a stray cat, that simply joins the household,
they ingrained themselves and became an assumed part of the home.
So, I don’t always notice them, because many have lived here
almost as long as me;
So sometimes the book’s lines don’t get filled as quick as they should.
But slowly I’m seeing them, because I have new eyes,
they, they’re flooding out as I flood in the light.