One Single Impression: Rambling
Forgive me if I ramble.
I love to talk.
My soul can sprout a tale.
Or it can regurgitate
some old time stuff which
most wish was forgotten.
My soul loves to ramble.
My tongue is civil, always.
Even so it can spew
venomous utterings at will
if you cross me. Still
I wish to keep my audience entranced.
My tongue has roots down deep within.
Far beyond the prying X-ray they rest,
my roots of cheer blending with
the roots of good will,
generous to a fault.
Giving of what's within me is my goal.
Those body parts three all work together,
my soul, my tongue, the roots down deep.
From solemn thoughts to silly gobbledygook
it all comes from the same briny root sac.
That red and bulging organ strains at times
but has never let me down.
The puss and the blood remain;
still the ever flowing thoughts fly
with featherless wings from my tongue.
Forgive me when I ramble.
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© 2011 Jimmiehov
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