To My Tongue

American made behind bars of bone

Freedom buried deep in the marrow

Huddled around a trove of syllables rather left untouched

Pushing past gates of flesh and forming vibrations in the air between the past and the now

Rioting would be’s and could be’s

Long live the revolution

 

Carefully molding desires into resent

And prayers into pen

Polishing wants until they shine yellow silver

And crinkle like grey gold

Formulating a personality from a character prospectively lost by ambition

 

Age turning at its sides, it never folds under pressure

Glowing like hot metal goosebumps,

Never failing to shove my hopes to the brim,

Spilling my beliefs like fine wine

Always the zealous connoisseur  

 

Keeping creations out of hands of heat

And fishing for tips of tin at the bottom of the sea

Deep where the trust falls shallow

Bless thee for thy service

And thank thee for thy truth

 

This poem is about: 
Me
Poetry Terms Demonstrated: 

Comments

Need to talk?

If you ever need help or support, we trust CrisisTextline.org for people dealing with depression. Text HOME to 741741