Clandestine Whispers
By GC SMITH
Behind gray, grimacing walls
secrets are told by garbled voices
bones that should be long buried
are unearthed and chewed again
One day tells its tale to another
we can only wish the tale true
but I fear the tale will be twisted
by those crones of wicked tongue
Bitches cannot let well enough alone
and let dogs lie where they sleep
no, they'll take words from innocents
and tar them with their witch's brush
The bastard children of their mendacities
ripen and then putrefy with retelling
frighten all who would not go there
delight crones who birthed the monsters
Why it is that crones must rend fabric
that by itself contained no untruth
seems they find delight in rotten lies
designed for tearing apart old friends
Behind gray, grimacing walls
passed on by puerile hags of Satan
untruths buried with old bones
are unearthed and chewed again
Poetry, prose, and other stuff meant for the reader's enjoyment. Web page at: Click here. My novels are White Lightning, The Carbon Steel Caress, In Good Faith, and Mudbug Tales; A Novel in Flashes, wit' recipes. My poetry book is A Southern Boy's Meanderings. CLICKY My webpage:
