A humble offering: a poem

“This I know,” he said to me,

(in confidence duly noted) 

“that we really should be

speaking with glass jaws.

Quiet in those hallowed halls.

Wait for people to call you out 

(for they will, oh yes, they will) 

Beat you up, confabulate

Flame for all to see.”

"Do you know who I am?" 

they shout over wires and down halls

"Yes, my sire.

Oh so I do. 

And to you, my dame,

a humble request 

please forgive my misplaced trust

in words and deeds so poorly translated

by foggy minds in constant flux.”

As he left

he turned and whispered

these final words:

“Though intent was pure

and execution most faithful

It is what’s uttered by tied up tongues

That matters in the end.”