Words are devious loathsome things,
A poet of veracity will say.
A mouthful of whispered sweet nothings,
Will keep even the chivalrous at bay.
Children and those of great enlightenment
Have no use for such literary device.
Only the callous and those with resentment
Use words to mince virtue with vice.
Where does one seek succor?
From the strain of misplaced wit.
What comfort does hapless stupor
Gain from a lyrical writ?
I write from petrification,
The irremediable affliction of the mind.
Words enchain me without altercation.
In their guile I lie entwined.