melissaahowells
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words are
a lost art and we are losing them oh, yes we are words have been... an art of crime splashed across a fence or bloodied brick facade words have been prayers hushed grumbled to a silent blind-eyed God without words not even a mumble can be exchanged nor a hot syllabic interchange nor the hypnotic weaving creation of a holy conversation occurs words used and meant to stir but words are no longer spoken carefully or listened to they are more often than not tossed about misunderstood manipulated worn out run down boots I wonder at the loss of language and if any one would notice or would they know how and would noticing do any of us good when its too late I miss real words I miss them being heard I listen for some sense I listen for justice I listen for truth I listen for words with conviction and strength words that stand up on their on two feet and scream is there someone anyone who would go to any length to defend his her words where is that person show yourself I hear mostly noise nonsense echos and lots of violence dazed we are we are robotic methodical pedantic plotting even dulled by indifference the juice of life has been sucked dry out of our marrows we have been frightened into their very narrows and their little ways of thinking and behaving without our words we are lost this is why I must write for these are the days I call the Times/New Roman the armies await marching orders from the ruling Kapitals while keen remote eyes are counting our keystrokes remember your birthright of words use them now before they are taken from you. 3-23-2015 3:52 pm All Rights Are Reserved By This Author All Poetry/Prose/Ideas/Rants/Words Are the Legal Property of this Writer Melissa A Howells Meloo from her Tilt-a-World Vote for this poem |
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