Cowered by the Lying Tongue

The Tree on Moon Lake.

Cowered by the lying tongue
Nabobs run amok
Spewing incendiary phlegm
Couched in the specious
Thinking I am alone.

Alone not we
Gentler combatants
Truckled by evil intent
Fearing our hearts become the same
Kick against the goads we must
To stay alive and free

Towering Titans above us
Yet far below
Lusting after that
Their own hands have avoided
In pursuit of our very souls

The wares they sell
Do cast a spell
Upon the naive pilgrim
Seeking solace from a crusted sphere
Void of redemption

Look not into the cerise eye
Intent on the devour
Look up to One
With Mercy’s hands
Alone He can empower

Truth does triumph
Seemingly often late
Yet, Truth the final arbiter
Dismembering the lying tongue
Full of mischievousness and hate.

A Poem by Slim Gravy