A well kept secret


The blackness comes from the mind,
It becomes disjointed with time
And goes into the heart of the blind
When asked of wellbeing, it replies, fine.

It lives in the darkness of its solitude,
Time is of no rescue to its force.
Its powers are only used by the shrewd,
Salvation is conceivable from its source.

Its depths are unknown by innocents
Consuming, destroying, strangling its owner.
Breath is stifled; muscles are tense,
Freedom is met, only with its disclosure.