There should be a word count
After all we only get so many chances,
So many prayers in every life.
Only God knows all those I did and didn't use.
Poor words, they never get any credit,
We can't even decide on
A universal language for them.
They should build monuments,
In Honour Of Unread Words.
Still, who would visit?
Instead we have shopping lists
Stuck to the wheels of supermarket trolleys.
Abused, misused, misspelt
Misunderstood, misquoted
If they put in a complaint, who would read it?
Take the most overused ones, those usually said
years too soon; 'I love you.'
And that one always said a few minutes too late; 'Sorry.'
Words must be exhausted and confused.
It's obvious to them what the next one should be, but not to us.
We stare at a blank page
Expecting them to pop out.
They would if we would let them.
Poets make it worse.
Their luminous portal is my door.
Still art thrives on confusion.
But words can easily get their own back,
Our reasons and excuses look silly
When we re-read them
And our attempts to make ourselves look good,
Are fake.