Hound Of Poetry Poet Rhyme

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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.

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