muzzle the Deep

why must it be tapered or measured in length?

what could such a small bit of flesh show with strength?

And yet through the ages chains and guards have been brung

all for this beastly storm-maker: the tongue.

Ten men could subdue it, as ten-thousand get thrashed

for the words that spark forth from it’s lips turn to ash.

A dragon is nothing compared to it’s fury

and many condemn what it does without jury

The mind is a tortoise while the mouth is in hurry

while the noise that it makes sends a king to his worry

But how can it be that such frail pinkish meat

can hurry the hordes, or an army retreat?

Simple, i tell you, as i chew my own beast:

the targets it wants are an unending feast!

For the tongue knows some things which the soul can’t assess,

for in it are mountains of life and of death.

Picking up on resources that spritelight the airwaves

the tongue’s an antenna to Hell’s and Christ’s stairways.

When it be trained, well some kingdoms will fall,

and when it’s unchecked put your faith in no wall,

for deep in its curves are the poisonest gall

and light all ablinding abounds in its mall.

— to conclude on the matter, go cherish the word

that falls from those lips that won’t scuttle a bird.

Yet run like the deer when that licker it rattles

For demons inhabit its lust for great battles . . .