Of Diamonds and Toads (Revision)

[nibbed]

Hi Todd.  I'm thankful your poem is here in this forum of mild to moderate critique.
I am feeling rather moderate today...



I swallowed the secret                                   [sometimes secrets must be swallowed, to protect the innocent]
that swims in my stomach
like a school of darting tadpoles.                                             
These words we speak when we must

not speak.
                                                                      [Confused at this device of separation]
So, we make up stories. Once

there was a child who sang diamonds                                      
and another who croaked toads.                                             
We nod our heads, impatient for the moral,                             
as when we wait for dessert after dinner—        [Made me think of the Tree of Heaven, the one that bears every manner of fruit                        
sweet to cover the bitter, sweet                          that one might freely eat of, just reach up, pluck and enjoy]                    
to make us forget.                                                                    
                                                                         
Truth burns inside with a blue flame                                         
like sulfur on my fingertips.                               [I'm not sure how these two are alike. Fart lightning?!]                          
This is the secret I cannot tell:                          
there are not two children but one.                 

You are long dead
and my tongue still roils
beneath this sediment.                                       [Interesting how I would be tricked into reading this as "sentiment" if not for the roils.]




The poem maintained it's level of mystery,
but it seemed almost forced to do so.  Best wishes.