Natural Elocutions of Denial

Practically every meaningful word which I have uttered is wrong. How can I say this, don't I know what I am saying? It is exactly because of what I have said and not meant, That I can now say my words are fiction. Had I known what was most true, that is what I would not reveal. Somehow we are like frightened children, scared of the truth. All my secrets have made me a Liar, you and I are not alike. The cat and the dog hold nothing back, save for indifference. We speak in guarded undertones, hoping not to annoy. We save our feelings for when the time is best. But we have missed the mark, time has had its way. Another thought another day, and we are busy with fresh denials.

The Song of Sweet Taress

Truncheons of despair, surge within him
Wintry, his fist, and brooding soul
Assails, a sea of darkness solemn
Mind, a tangle of lost control

Icy, his blood runs shrill and sinking
Replete, within his veins complex
Brain, confounded truth denying
Completes, his troubled power vex

Loathing, rapine astride his trace
Vines and creatures wither there
Evil, profuse with no disgrace
Entwine, with sweet Taress's hair

None, could better know her timbre
Or sweeping curtsy now effete
His, was iced hard with rancor
For which, drowned out her fair express

Locutions, his hate for all this day
As late, the song of sweet Taress
Shall not, proclaim to where he lay
To wait, the guillotine's finesse