These Words Immortal Death

Do not speak to me in your brutish tongue
Of things from where no man have sung
For men who find voice in the desert sands
Invite winter among their dwelling hands

Speak freely if you fear not your own bark
Let it be so that your innards shall impart
But let it be known such words cannot rebuke
What has already been read like an old book

If silence be within your wits content
Then perhaps ponder on this without repent
For what falls under the spell of mortal men
Cannot easily be erased like thought to pen

Let the candle burn slow in your mind’s wick
For it is the dagger that shall rise if cunning is quick
Fear not though if what you speak must be said
But to silence is to choose these words immortal death

P D Dawson (darkimagination)