Strong Language

 

Writing down

strong words

that don’t mean

what they once did.

Full of holes.

Drained empty.

They no longer

hold the truth.

They used to be immutable.

 

I used to wake,

and sleep,

and dream

by their eminence.

They held up

to robust scrutiny

and conjecture.

Withstood assaults,

and still stayed

comforting

on the hard, cold, winter nights

when hope was hard to manage.

 

Now,

it seems they crumble easily.

Under a microscope,

they appear porous

and corrupted from within,

as if they have suffered

from a long disease.

 

I keep writing.

I keep speaking.

Even in the lonely stretches,

I hear only faint, sickly echoes

heralded back

from the abyss.

These words used to sustain us,

build our culture,

stand under the firmament

like crown jewels upon the earth.

They were once sacred;

describing the elusive face of God,

and mapping out the pathway

from this world to the next.

 

Now,

they are less than paper.

We speak,

and smoke comes out

of our ashen hearts.

We write,

and type,

but the symbols

have lost all their meaning.

Bizarre hieroglyphs,

no more inspired

than the natural chaos

of the universe.

 

Bereft of agency,

our minds fail.

We become dull fixtures,

no longer arbiters

of cosmic fates,

but vessels,

cracked and vacant,

for language

is our thoughts,

and hearts,

and our beings.

 

Sadly,

we are now a world

of ghostly automatons.

Reams of code

replace the sonnets in our hearts.

Cold skins,

mapped upon us,

atom thin facsimiles

of the blood-flushed bodies

we used to inhabit.

 

A world,

reflective

of the words that made it.

Mournful,

silent,

empty.

Still, I scratch away,

hoping to find

the spark

that once gave our world

life.

 

 

HG – 2022

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