She has a tongue of cinder and spite, a fire-tongue.
When she speaks, things crackle, burn and incinerate into black ashes. Words emerge, spark into flame and then fizzle away, as the spite eats away like fire with fragile paper.
Fire-tongue, flame-tongue.
“You turn the sky to gold, but your tongue burns.”
“Your songs are heavenly, but your words sting.”
“Tame thy tongue, ol’ great bird of fire.”
She tastes the cinder and the spite. Like cordite. Like ash. Like burnt paper ashes reduced to nothing. She knows that her words have power and spiteful as they are, they serve a purpose. There is Life. There is Death. Words are never honey sweet. Not all the time.
She speaks and cities grow, only to fall and grow again.
She speaks and great men rise to power, only to plummet down in shame.
She speaks and funeral pyres burn, for the young and the old, only to send the bright spirits skywards.
She has a tongue of cinder and spite, a fire-tongue.
ladyqkat said,
July 27, 2009 at 7:21 pm
This is poetry.
Now, you go REST! You are going to have a very busy time soon and you need to husband your strength.
Keep pen and paper by your side so you can jot down thoughts, but stay away from the computer. The thoughts will be there when you come back.
jolantru said,
July 28, 2009 at 12:45 am
*giggle* Thank you.
Hehe, okay, I know. I am going to get a notepad and pen.