When truths are left unspoken for a long time,
bypassed promptly or shuffled hastily in the corner,
they tend to pile up in knots, heaps and lumps,
in a terrible, terrible mess,
until, one day, they grow too big to ignore,
too massive to be contained.
All they need is a touch, a flick,
the slightest of taps, or a soft kick,
or even just a breeze, to set them swirling upon
the glossy sanctity of a long-expired peace.