I wish to know.
Just to hear It.
Long for someone to tell me.
The mental knowledge.
An idea hidden from many.
The words refused to be spoken.
A thought.
A sentence.
Unspoken.
When I’m older.
Old enough.
They might mean an age.
Or mental state.
They say it’s maturity.
Not mature enough.
Maturity comes from knowing.
There must be a medium.
A small in between.
That I may be allowed to know.
Grow up.
Become wiser.
Then I may know.
I wonder if they know.
It could be a bluff.
This could be a trick.
Maybe that’s the secret.
The reason we aren’t told.
No one truly knows.