Dear Words

An ode to writing and language, but in an ironic way, in that the purpose of language is to convey an idea, but when someone gets too wordy... it defeats the purpose. Enter poem.

Dearest words, from whence do you hail?

Is it from the imaginings of brilliant minds, 

Of those possessing unparalleled lingual prowess?

Or from mere babes, 

Who gurgle and spit, with simple tongues and happy mouths?

These odd shades of sound we produce day and night,

Formed from the stirrings of bleak and delightful thoughts,

Shaped by curved lips and molded by the radiant tones of man

Luminous in concept, or sinister in motive, 

Your creation did produce and inspire, 

Myriads of colloquial nomads,

Seeking refuge from the boredom of common language,

And thus created the Arts.   

Sweet words, were you invented by man alone,

To woo woman?

Were you made first to articulate the exquisite delight of the soul?

Or to express our most detested grief?

Was it that the riddles of humanity caused your birth?

So as to ponder these aloud in depth 

And to be solved in simplicity and grace?

Or was it that riddles were created

For the pleasure of your employment?

Kind words, how you sooth the ravages of mortal heart,

Causing man to ride the wind from dull earth, 

And explore heavenward

Ever onward, ever upward!

Yet, without thought, like the venom of an infernal snake

Will the poison of malicious talk betray kindred spirits.

By the same mouth does man make

The purest, most eloquent of expressions by you

Yoked unjustly with equal terms of idiocy

Versatile and treacherous you are, O words

Forever is the hope of the artist,

To savor the taste of your purity

To convey comfort and hope,

When the dawn has yet broken

On the bleak horizon of mourning.

To use you fully and well.

So drink deep you sinners!

Drink to the full, this cup of humanity

That which enriches,

And fills us to the marrow,

To our core; heart and soul

With poetry, and virtue, and love, and wit

That which we so well exercise 

To heal, to kill, to woo, to please, and to spite

That thing which we call: 

Language.

Author's Note

Here, I make no promises to not speak nonsense, for from which, my deepest thoughts do sprout.
Have at it.

Reviews

[Tegon Maus]

Hey Slim... sorry I couldn't get to your writing sooner... computer problems. I am sure, however, that this is way over my head ! I have trouble enough rubbing two words together let alone making them rhyme so I'm a little out of my depth here. I like it... I can honestly say that much. I can tell you how language came about but I'm sure you already know ! Send me something you want me to read and I'll give it shot.