Omphalos

Beneath the fabled, innocent and polished mind In a tinderbox wrapped up by an askant beldam’s hand Above an unmarked grave that is welcoming, rather kind A pair of eyes noticed a hue in the dunes of white sand. Nom de Dieu! Shall we move forward as I amn’t uncivil, Scarcely having been crude or a tad coarse, Do not trap me in the cyclone of this swivel, Do not tempt me with a sale on a second-grade bourse. A gauche tongue displayed a tonne of venom Is it just a gene that could not have kept it shut? There is nothing more that destroys a character plenum There is no pain anymore that felt like a punch in the gut. Ohh Helen, this time a polemic won’t start a war I originate in my own omphalos, in silence and solitude, Driven by sheer desire to wear nothing more Then my pallium until my last prelude.