Language of the Gods

“The glimmer of some indiscernible feature-

seems silly and bleak,”

so grumbled the creature.

Where have I hands,

what need shall I speak?

If everything’s flavorless,

what’s one more week?

I’ve seen it on postcards,

signed, mailed to self,

Its me in some semblance,

yet fairer in health.

Besides me, my armspan. You pass me the glass

as I look in your eyes,

time slows all too fast.

So drink of the high times,

the mornings and dew

Cheers to old rose-tints,

and once more to you.

You’ve slipped into sadness, I shudder to glance

O’er world’s worth of carpet..

a blood stained expanse..

“So what’s wrong in rotting? we’ve harmed none to date”

“’Cept one who tried helping,”

“a lifetime too late.”

“The problems I felt,

a fickle repose,

Were not worth the mention.”

She says that she knows.

“There’s nothing or all of it, you choose which fist.”

“The Right one”

She smiles,

“If you insist.”