Ah! Where flows the dribbling wanting tongue
that wrenches deep and there has stung
the sweet perfumed promise lays
where crisp as the dew the words strays
Soft to the lintel the ebb but flows
cursed to the gentle the grasp it grows
Words that here within inspire
fills the heat of seasoned desire
Its a crafting born so long, long ago
where tales drench deep upon the flow
of this sacred bardic way that stems
from earths sweet mantel, life's tender hems
I coat many colours where the tongue deep and rich
cross the boundaries to tease and bitch
My craft birthed from the ancient mire
Hammered out upon the blacksmiths fire.
I am a poet, dressed to season's fate
I am the opener of heaven's gate
Look deep the words that cross and rhyme
proclaim my sanity as you would a crime
For born am I of fathers old
crusted the knave of battle bold
I teach my tricks of trade to inspire
fill the hearts to passion's desire
I echo the sultry ways of pasts gone
I heave the words that fill the song
Trick to my question, bear fast and flee
for here before stands but me
I am the company that hordes fast the sound
The deathbed of every mortal, for I am the ground
Few shall understand the words crafted rich
but then again too few know the pitch
where words cease to be heard but felt deep inside
Where I the bard Talieson do but reside.

Alisdaire O'Caoimph

http://alisdaire.tripod.com/