To a Liar
The color of your tongue
Rhymes not with your song:
No longer the deeper red
Of the truly well-fed
But the darker black
Of one in bare lack;
What lies do to the lips
And to The Dishonest that quips;
Your charcoal tongue, a mark of Cain
Spares you not a deserved pain…
And – see? – You‘re shivering
And your voice quavering;
A wetness on your right palm
And inability to remain calm…
Crazily twisting your middle finger,
Your replies beginning with linger:
A seven-word–per-minute,
With a face dully lit…
Only a straight cook at your eyes
And punishment becomes your prize;
Now you’ll have to release The True
Or you shall be jailed without a shoe?
Post Comments
Poetrysoup is an environment of encouragement and growth so only provide specific positive comments that indicate what you appreciate about the poem. Negative comments will result your account being banned.
Please
Login
to post a comment
Turn off ads, get more exposure for your poetry, and get more features with a
Premium Membership.
