Tongue on fire.

The impulse were buried deep unknown

abstractedly in labyrinthine corridors of

profound thoughts

sallow surface filled with clods

Attempt to plow/harrow

only added to debris/malise

Despite gradual depredation of time

some amber smoldering

tempering weeds And

roots of all roots

yet hearts simmering

And as if cant be doused

or turn into ashes

So order could restore after

completed destruction

It need a rivulet

of -Tongue on fire

to get heat out

more than what generated

Inside

So that tools of time

which counts tragedies

may find lesser skeletons

who to invoke

To intercede

To calm the ever burning lamps

And misery of its core.