I get so tired of you,
who use your voice
without first understanding that it is a choice.
When you speak,
you're obliged to handle with care
the words and the feelings
thrown out to the air.
Do you even know the language at all?
I do not think you do.
If so, how can such a waste of words occur
among the literate lucky few?
Words can weave the truth of the past
upon the present's very soul.
Yet, here you stand
with pen in hand,
unaware of your part in the whole.
No, I do not believe
you even know
where words come from at all.
They are not yours.
You did not make them.
You merely use them as you scrawl.
They are ancient spirits;
unchanged and unspoken,
breathed by men
more witted and wiser then you.
Please cease your distraction
before they are broken.
Their meaning too meaningful
to be fooled with by you.
And here I do tell you,
please hear what I mean;
If the words they elude you, as if too Byzantine,
then just give up from the start,
for only the wisest of hearts
can ever know love
and how it came to mean.
This notion absurd
goes beyond written word,
and it is here that you must understand me.
For only by meaning alone
can words ever atone
for the confusion in heart's understanding.
Where did it begin
and who is its author?
These things,
please let me explain.
For I have been at study;
My heart battered and ******
and my pen
now broken in twain.
part of a larger piece i'm working on
