Lying mouths, like cannon fire, explode words like clouds of glitter.
The snake may lament, “Venom tastes of the sweetest yellow honey.”
Needled tongues, weave a false tapestry. The Devil’s silver quilter,
Red handled brushes, paint wet shadows the mind can’t see.
Flakes of red, flakes of blue and green, cake over hungry eyes.
Warm smooth words slide into waiting ears, like warm butter.
Soon to rot, a thick heavy gray headache begins to rise.
The moon whispers, “Taste my light!” through the darkened shutter.
En-flamed orange tongues lick away, truths lush green forest.
Scents of wood, and the squish of soil, are lost in the ash of history.
Anger will crawl out of its cave, to devour any who might contest.
Its black scales breathe like the rippling ocean, blanketed in mystery.
At midnight, Liars dig a grave for truth, like white ghosts, clawing hard cemetery clay.
Truth, the immortal glowing yellow sun, may burn the liars blanket of glitter, one day.
Copyright © 2017 Zachary W Gilbert