Secret

In the web inside my Self I am hiding a thing.  A bright beautiful lovely thing. 
    I am saving it. 
  If I cry too much it becomes more brilliant. 
   This mystery is holding the split parts in connection like a taffy magnet. 
     "It's almost time."
It's like a whisper to the race horse at the starting gate. 
  Oh, we are boxed in now,  the rider and the mount, but we are prancing.  We are collected.  We are about to run.