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

 

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