Words
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What are words?
Are they just that, sounds and shapes that create words?
Words that can be serious or silly,
or are they words that are propaganda and strange?
Too many words to shape, to hear, to speak
Too many languages to shape, to hear, to speak
Yet for all this, crystal glass is clear, is this:
Poem Past City Magick
Present Song Rome Life Hello
Fun Future Book Tale Death
Wordswordswordswordswords
They shape who we are – what we are
But on deaf ears they do fall
For time no more for the words on the frail page
Be thy from history on written stone or papyrus writ
or typed on clicking keys or lined paper
Words, be they for pleasure, pain or truth,
hold a story to tale, for truth or lie
they hold who we are at the beating frailed heart of humanity
And write I do,
For myself, for the future,
To be heard long after death
For death will claim me in time,
But not before I tell my Tale
Be that what it will