Hidden Skeletons

For years they’ve been there,
hidden and out of sight.
Most have no memories of them,
which keeps the secret tight.

But there’s always a nagging worry
that someone will tell,
and if that ever happens our lives
will be a living hell.

As another with the knowledge dies
I sigh with some relief.
With each new generation brings distance
to the shame we did reap.

Our ancestors have left this hanging,
but it’s our heads that’ll fall.
There’s no escaping their wrong doing,
which doesn’t seem right to all.

If it ever becomes known, we’re finished,
shame has no place to hide.
We could never hold our heads up again,
the only escape would be suicide.

poem by Orlando Belo
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!