Robert Frost’s poem “The Secret Sits” is one of my all-time favorites.

We dance round in a ring and suppose,

But the Secret sits in the middle and knows.

Secret, with a capital S.

It’s a simple couplet; just two lines of poetry that rhyme, but brilliantly speaks volumes to me.

I’m sure it speaks volumes to you as well.

And I’m equally sure that how and why it touches you is entirely different from what Frost’s poem means to me.

Its poetic rhythm is in anapestic trimeter; a rhythmical combination of anapest: (A foot of poetic verse consisting of three syllables) and trimeter: (Three iambic feet within a single line of poetry).

Three.

Tri.

In the middle.

If you try to be me, I’ll try to be you.
Then for each other, we’ll know what to do.

If you look at me through my eyes,
there will be no need to wear my protective disguise.

Because you’ll be able to see that my inner child is in fear,
and the reason for my insecurities will be crystal clear.

You’ll see that I’m not nearly as strong as I appear.
And you’ll see that I feel more and more pain with each passing year.

Then it will be your turn to take off your mask.
And you’ll have no choice but to tell me your true feelings when I ask.

I’ll see that when you want to cry, you scream.
I’ll see that you, like me, are not as tough as you seem.

I’ll see that you are going over the brink.
I’ll see that you love me much more than I think.

When you look at me reflected in your view,
the picture is distorted by my ego—and yours too.

Look at me without the deep complexes of our past.
Open your heart and relate to me at last.

Let’s open our minds—I’ll become you, and you’ll become me.
And I’m sure we’ll be shocked and saddened by what we both see.

I’ll see that you need understanding and to belong.
You’ll see that I understood what you needed all along.

I’ll see that you are weary of the games we play.
You’ll see that I pray for you to love me every single day.

If I see your suffering and your unrelenting pain,
I will never again be so quick to place blame.

If you see the reasons why I cry and complain,
you’ll see that the two of us are very much the same.

If I am you and you are me,
we can finally end this torture and agree,

to work on improving the relationship
and make it the very best that it can be.

And maybe we can finally live together
in peace and harmony.

So let’s trade places.

Let’s open our eyes and see
what happens to the two of us

when I become you,
and you become me.

One brick, two bricks, three bricks,

coming at me from left and right.

Brick after painful brick,

with seemingly no end in sight.

Some bricks broke my spirit,

while others broke my trust.

I was knocked down but not out

and obsessed with crushing their

brick-slinging bloodlust.

When I picked myself up and brushed myself off,

my first thought was to throw the bricks back.

But then I asked myself, why should I be sullied

by an undignified counterattack?

And then a lightbulb went off. I’ll use words!

Paste and bind them to protect and insulate.

I’ll mortar myself using the characters of the alphabet,

to quell the character-assassinating, brick-baiting hate.

Let me hit them back with words instead of bricks,

by utilizing A-B-C-D-E-F-G.

I’ll disarm them with vowels and consonants,

with the help of H-I-J-K-L-M-N-O-P.

I’ll build a mighty fortress with mortared words,

cementing them between Q-R-S-T.

I’ll shake the haters up by spilling through spelling,

U-V-W-X-Y-Z.

So, I used the alphabet to word-fortify against their attacks.

And I’ll admit, those bricks initially brought me to my knees.

But now I’m safe and sound, all bricked up within and without.

My safehold, all in ABCs.