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Words are the instruments
By which we form all our abstractions,
We   fashion, embody our ideas,
In which we are enabled to move,
Along a series of conclusions,
With a rapidity so fast,
With no trace, of the successive steps,
We remain unconscious,
How much we owe,
To this auxiliary, of the reasoning faculty.

                                                   ­                                                                 ­               Tom Maxwell ©
                                                               ­                                                                 ­   06/15/2020 AD
                                                              ­                                                                 ­    11:00 AM
sergiodib Nov 2020
There are more words than atoms in this world.

Their sub-atomic particles
spin around their existential nucleus,

in the void.

Sometimes they combine
generating unintelligible emotional

If meaning and anti matter
they might annihilate each other
in a momentary burst of
Pure Energy.
Anya Sep 2018
I used to write with words
Embodying my individual emotions
In splotches of paint
I write with phrases
Stringing words together to paint a picture
No longer simply splatter paint
But a collage
Deferred thought my mind speaks
but unable to reach
Since, lacking proper fuel
words are no more than tools
Idly on the shelf
All alone by themselves
Whether each has the skill
Makes no difference still
Needs a user to wield
The brain must be unsealed
Else it's nothing but noise
And will only annoy
To communicate one
Has to pay attention
And your message think through
It is important to

Listen right back
Without barbs or attacks
Open-mind speaking freely
Add diplomacy
Must employ use of tact
Support statements with fact
Do not rush; take your time
Critical? Then be kind
Not a must to agree
Can't force someone to see
Each of us has his thoughts
Throughout life we are taught
There are social patterns
Easily to discern
So, wherever you fall
Do not build up a wall

Keeping out you will win
As you lock yourself in
Rigid form without flex
New ideas will perplex
Ignorance and denial
Grow into a pile
On island alone
Statue made of stone
In your mind you’re entombed
Happy life is now ruined
Feeling always against
With a paranoid sense
A refusal to see
An unwavering tree
But a tree can still bow
Give and take it will show

Rigid thoughts become firm
Close your mind; will not learn
Placing all of the weight
Just for you; here to take
And must always support
Forcibly will contort
Having flex we adjust
This in life is a must
Something we can not do
Like to uncook a stew
Won't exist very long
People just not that strong
Or should they try to be
A journey incomplete
Happiness lies within
On these words please don’t spin

A sole island you're not
Harmony should be sought
Infinite universe
You can’t always be first
Finding balance in life
Like to see without sight
Each of us wants respect
But to give is to get
Listen up before talking
Use foot and start walking
Will find in due time
Not to bother or mind
People are free to think
From each other we drink
How we grow and evolve
Complex problems we’ll solve

Not a perfect system
But we gather wisdom
Always strive to improve
It’s the best we can do
To communicate we
Open our minds to see
And try to understand
Flawed and kindred humans
Written: June 12, 2018

All rights reserved
Heart of Silver Apr 2018
I've got a crayon in my hand,
a color for every lost syllable
There's a brightly scribbled drawing
to make my mouth and head reconcilable
zahra Mar 2018
i just wanted to reach you
and for i could not do it with my own two hands
perhaps with my mouth
with my pen
with my words, i will

— that is, if you’ll have me.
William A Poppen Apr 2017
first comes the walk
walks are required now
prescribed to ward off
effects of life

getting from here to there
taken for granted
vertical movement
now a task

next was found
the Underground
home of brews
home of seats

some soft, cushy
others wooden
yet warm, inviting
come, taste our brew

chairs, sofas
filled with chatting people
mostly women
looking into faces

illuminated screens
across coffee, latte or tea
smiles, grimaces

what is shared
humor, news
fears, fraughts, fragments
dimensions of now, the past

people rise to
pick up special steaming
drinks fresh from
the Underground

he never orders latte
standard drinks
brew of the day
fill his cup

an inkling may stir
his brain, he will order
a white chocolate mocha
Dad Poet Society Jun 2014
Vulnerable is what I am
When I let the real me outside
It's not safe, sometimes, to be so carefree
Should I risk hurt, or play safe and hide?

But people who love me keep asking me
To open my heart up to them
I don't know why that's so uncomfortable
I guess vulnerable is not what I am

The few times I've worn my heart on my sleeve
My words never came out right
So I've practiced being less vulnerable
And kept my real thoughts out of sight

People keep saying to use more words
But I fear I'll be misunderstood
Maybe I won't express myself right
Or I'll say way more than I should

Words, I've found, are containers for thoughts
I don't know why I sit here and hoard them
When I store them unspoken, my thoughts sit unused
Unshared—a container unopened

It's a little like having a pantry of food
And keeping it all to myself
Food's meant to be shared, and if it is not
It helps no one—just rots on the shelf

And that's how it is with my words kept inside
If love doesn't share them some way
My thoughts stored inside these containers called words
Can spoil and turn bitter someday

I used to complain that people didn't understand me
And for that I would silently resent them
But the silence, I now see, is of my own making—
If they don't know me, it's because I haven't let them
To my quiet kids, and to recovering introverts everywhere.

— The End —