What Dreams May Come

I say again I have no funny family stories worth telling.
Lots of families do, sure, and sure, some of mine
might bring some smiles, some joy, even to me.
But most will not and are held safe with me,
secrets locked tight in my heart, where there
they retell themselves, again and again, in my mind
are searched, researched, unsolved, unresolved.
They trip me, stumbling mysteries, twisting riddles.
They are solitary stories perching at the door,
the caged ones you sometimes feel
might kill you if you ever whisper them out,
the night-winged ones that prowl my unquiet dreams.

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