Subterfuge
Words are alluring, beguiling,
on Wormwood's tongue,
weaving intricately,
gorgeously crafting them into elaborate fabrications,
each sleek, metallic sound spewing out behind some silk worm,
seemingly mechanically threading along,
but glance at the underside of the cloth,
and you would see brocade designs in ulterior colors.
Words are worlds, are whims, are wonders,
in the hands of a poet,
enigmatically piecing patch-work, rectangular words,
rounding out the sharpness of jagged truths,
softening laundered textiles—
poetic prevarications—
to warm—to heal—to comfort...
Thus poets and worms alike are known to hide
beneath a downy counterpane of lies…
Cryssa
Axilea
must on occasion trip over his/her legerdemain.
Good one, Charlie. -gene.
was so glad to see your posting... pat
fee