Unsaid

So much of what we live goes on inside–
The diaries of grief, the tongue-tied aches
Of unacknowledged love are no less real
For having passed unsaid. What we conceal
Is always more than what we dare confide.
Think of the letters that we write our dead.

by Dana Gioia

Comments (9)

What we conceal Is always more than what we dare confide. Think of the letters that we write our dead. ................................. Magnificently unique. This first time perhaps I do feel the real exposure of 'Conceal' and 'Confide' by its difference of meaning. Extraordinarily different the poem. Fantastic choice for projecting by PH. Thanks.
A n excellent poem. I enjoyed it.
Brilliant presentation. Meaningful and didactive. Thanks for sharing.
Of grief! ! Thanks for sharing this poem with us.
Meaningful write. We can't always express our heart and mind before others. We go to our graves with so many secrets about ourselves and others. Nice and congrats.
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