OMERTA
- Dark Poets Club
- Jun 21
- 1 min read
By Synodinos-George Paraschis
I have always been fascinated by secrets, that barely accessible knowledge that is revealed only to a select few and far between, the background that stays away from prying eyes and the privileged few are entitled to know.
Like a treasure chest that only the brave ones have the guts to open.
Like a reptile that lives well protected somewhere in some dark burrow.
Like a bandaged mummy preserved unchanged by the hordes in some sarcophagus.
Perhaps because what is shared with many ends up somehow losing its value.
It is falsified, degenerates and turns into a trivial, monotonous, anesthetic dimension.
And unfortunately, usually not everyone knows how to appreciate preciousness.
Teacher, you've been teaching and you're not saying a word ; the Tigris led me astray, and the river Euphrates.
Circe transformed Odysseus' companions with wine from an unfenced vineyard.
Transformed into a bull, Zeus seized Europe and they mingled where Rhea gave birth to him.
The soldier stabbed the conspirator's heart with a bayonet on a hollow caldera.
Underground tremors ominously activated the semi-dead crater.
White smoke emerged from the Sistine Chapel chimney.
Desperately search the catacombs for the philosopher's stone.
No matter how many mouths you forcefully block with bricks, no matter how many years pass, some undead vampire will always remain intact to proclaim any bare truth.
Grave-digging is a sacrilegious act and unequivocally condemned.
Retreat to the bastion of those who fled disorderly.
Despite the resistance, eventually everyone succumbs to the meander without a fight.