From polished fingers these words pour out
Into the ears of the wicked and the hungry;
They taste like salt, like victory and shame;
For years they flow from the devil’s throat,
Filling his ever growing, evermoaning moat,
And with great power, people let them spill,
Risen, exalted, praised, supreme, beloved,
They feel all these things that displease Good.
Had Pluto ever seen such fear on his subjects' faces?
Had Minerva ever wept such tears for these disgraces?
The narcissus flower has never bloomed so blue
For words that fall from the worst parts of you.
YOU ARE READING
A Collection of Poetry (For You)
Poetry"Poetry" collection poems, songs, phrases, etc A bit of my heart and soul in every phrase, stanza, line.
