Tongues Of The Gods
The gods had harbored their message
The thunder of languid and lewd tongues
In a whisper surging inside my bones
In frothing rolls of vapid vitality
Paving the lulled clouds of safety
And there were rivers in opposite directions
Razing each other's fluent currents
In the midst of the havoc was the turbulence
Heralding the parceled profanity of the gods
Distracting my assiduous recuperation
In the dancing flames of an upside inferno
In the night's eloquent guise
The god's would drink from my blood
And spit into my somnolent veins
And I would be swathed from within
The unfathomable depths of the viscera
With a febrile engulfment of the soul-
Of the old weary evocative soul-
Dies in a single graze of the petulant
Tongues of the puissant gods
Condemning, castigating, and castrating
The threads of a flaccid dreaming
The pockmarks of a lifeline,
The jaded claimant nirvana,
The fabled titivations of the languid sun,
The affable frescoes of psychesthenia -
Would all twaddle in a tongue's skirmish
Against the parsimonious invitation
Of heaven, Olympus, or reincarnation,
For the silence of your coiled tongue, dear Emily,
Holds the girdle of idyllic effulgence
That the gods never had for themselves
Thus, can never bestow upon me.
poem by Norman Santos
Added by Poetry Lover
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