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Warden Of My Tongue

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𝔗𝔥𝔢 𝔚𝔞𝔯𝔡𝔢𝔫 𝔬𝔣 𝔪𝔶 𝔱𝔬𝔫𝔤𝔲𝔢 𝔦𝔫 𝔱𝔥𝔢 𝔇𝔞𝔯𝔨 𝔄𝔯𝔠𝔥𝔦𝔳𝔢𝔰, 𝔖𝔢𝔫𝔱𝔦𝔫𝔢𝔩
𝔣𝔬𝔯 𝔱𝔥𝔢 𝔢𝔠𝔥𝔬𝔢𝔰 𝔬𝔣 𝔥𝔞𝔲𝔫𝔱𝔦𝔫𝔤 𝔪𝔢𝔪𝔬𝔯𝔦𝔢𝔰 𝔱𝔥𝔞𝔱 𝔣𝔦𝔩𝔩 𝔱𝔥𝔢 𝔩𝔞𝔫𝔢𝔰
𝔬𝔣 𝔰𝔦𝔩𝔢𝔫𝔠𝔢 𝔞𝔫𝔡 𝔲𝔫𝔰𝔢𝔢𝔫 𝔠𝔥𝔞𝔦𝔫𝔰 𝔬𝔣 𝔡𝔢𝔟𝔞𝔲𝔠𝔥𝔢𝔯𝔶 𝔭𝔢𝔫𝔫𝔢𝔡
𝔱𝔬 𝔪𝔶 𝔴𝔦𝔫𝔤𝔰. 𝔈𝔱𝔠𝔥𝔢𝔡 𝔦𝔫 𝔣𝔩𝔞𝔪𝔢𝔰, 𝔱𝔲𝔯𝔫𝔢𝔡 𝔱𝔬 𝔡𝔲𝔰𝔱
𝔴𝔦𝔱𝔥 𝔱𝔥𝔢 𝔠𝔞𝔡𝔢𝔫𝔠𝔢 𝔬𝔣 𝔰𝔦𝔫 𝔞𝔫𝔡 𝔴𝔦𝔩𝔡 𝔬𝔫𝔦𝔬𝔫 𝔰𝔨𝔦𝔫. 𝔈𝔳𝔢𝔯𝔶 𝔟𝔯𝔢𝔞𝔱𝔥
𝔞 𝔥𝔢𝔞𝔯𝔱𝔞𝔠𝔥𝔢. 𝔄 𝔡𝔦𝔯𝔤𝔢 𝔣𝔬𝔯 𝔫𝔞𝔨𝔢𝔡 𝔰𝔢𝔯𝔞𝔭𝔥𝔰 𝔦𝔫 𝔱𝔥𝔢 𝔮𝔲𝔦𝔩𝔩’𝔰 𝔦𝔫𝔨𝔴𝔢𝔩𝔩.
𝔑𝔬𝔴 𝔚𝔞𝔯𝔡𝔢𝔫 𝔬𝔣 𝔪𝔶 𝔱𝔬𝔫𝔤𝔲𝔢, 𝔢𝔳𝔢𝔯𝔪𝔬𝔯𝔢 𝔱𝔬 𝔰𝔦𝔫.

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    3 COMMENTS

    1. Hello poet.
      Your poem speaks of sin and memories, a deadly combination for those unwilling to unveil their truths. You however, seem a willing soldier in the battlefield of the unforgiving darkness.
      Brava.

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