Hour One – Tongue of Fire

Tongue of Fire


His uncouth tongue spits fire,

Then it spits petrol inflaming the fire

Encircling our enclave.


His tongue unearths ghosts,

Bitter ghosts roving

In yesteryears’ graveyards.


They did not die in peace,

They would not rest in peace.

So they angle for war.


Yet, citizens crave his tongue.

‘Speak to us,’ they scream.


And when he does,

His tongue threatens genocide,

Awakens revisionists scavenging

Dustbins for discarded morsels of history

To feed their nihilistic appetite.


This fire, if unquenched,

Will leave no one unscathed.

2 thoughts on “Hour One – Tongue of Fire

    1. Very many thanks, Mark Lucker. Your kind commentary is highly appreciated. I couldn’t complete the marathon, so I feel sad. I will do better next year, hopefully.

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