Gun

for my Muse

I have waited for decades 
To loose this tongue,
Chained to the floor of my mouth
Like the sea, chained in its bed by the earth,
Yet unquiet, impatient, aroused 
By the merciless, importunate moon; 

Allowed, like the sea, just so much freedom
Of movement; back and forth, forth and back
Up and up and down; forced to converse 
When it would sing, to wait when it would wail; 
Waited so long to loosen this tongue 
Which already careens, cannon-wild, across the wooden deck 

Of my wooden ship, crushing men, 
Staving a hole in the side, killing indiscriminately
Those I love because it could not fire
When it would. An unthanked tongue 
Is as dangerous as a merciless tongue; 
Dangerous as an unthanked gun.  

 © Larry Haworth, 2013