My mouth has an after-taste of foot-
wish my wagging tongue would just stay put.
When few words apply,
I overindulge and let them fly.
Nothing bad, nothing harmful.
only too much is less than charmful.
A wise man is judicious in choice;
this idiot is tired of his own voice.
Why do I speak so much
when silence the soul will touch?
Guess it boils down to self-ambition,
I suffer from"everybody, listen to me" condition.
When will I learn to be humble
and close this trap that mumbles?
When will I learn to shut up and walk
and use far less words to talk?
Lord, why can't I grasp quality over quantity
and curtail the use of this extremity?
Out my mouth does the tongue fly-
same when I write, pen held high.
Many things in life require self-control,
Seems the hardest is voice's gaping hole.
Share This Poem