About the mindless use of words by some people.
syllables pronounced repeatedly, never changing anything, just
a waste of good air and precious time.
Words spoken in simplicity, allowing the understanding to be clear
fall on ears that cannot grasp the simplistic values of the sounds
that vibrate on the drums in their heads.
Words resounding in a complicated mundane verse, that cause the
mind to go round like a carousel that is out of tune, and out of time
with the wheels that turn it.
Words that only rip away the tender linings of the heart and soul,
laying open the raw flesh of who one is, and what one can be if
only the words would cease.
Words, and more words, a constant barrage of useless language
floating off into nothingness, only to be rained back down by the
insatiable cloud of self-righteous glory.
Words belonging to you hold the pillar, on which you perch,
holding yourself high above those who don't fit in your
proverbial mold.
Words are just words, they speak what you wish to convey,
with sharp edges that cut and wound their foe, leaving them
bleeding and wounded.
Words do not speak the truth of your heart, actions have
bared your soul to the eyes of those around you. However,
I am of good cheer; I have over come the words.
Poetry by Kathryn Walsh
Read 788 times
Written on 2006-07-21 at 22:10
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Words
Words bounce around the years like a rubber ball on rubber wall,syllables pronounced repeatedly, never changing anything, just
a waste of good air and precious time.
Words spoken in simplicity, allowing the understanding to be clear
fall on ears that cannot grasp the simplistic values of the sounds
that vibrate on the drums in their heads.
Words resounding in a complicated mundane verse, that cause the
mind to go round like a carousel that is out of tune, and out of time
with the wheels that turn it.
Words that only rip away the tender linings of the heart and soul,
laying open the raw flesh of who one is, and what one can be if
only the words would cease.
Words, and more words, a constant barrage of useless language
floating off into nothingness, only to be rained back down by the
insatiable cloud of self-righteous glory.
Words belonging to you hold the pillar, on which you perch,
holding yourself high above those who don't fit in your
proverbial mold.
Words are just words, they speak what you wish to convey,
with sharp edges that cut and wound their foe, leaving them
bleeding and wounded.
Words do not speak the truth of your heart, actions have
bared your soul to the eyes of those around you. However,
I am of good cheer; I have over come the words.
Poetry by Kathryn Walsh
Read 788 times
Written on 2006-07-21 at 22:10
Save as a bookmark (requires login) Write a comment (requires login) Send as email (requires login) Print text
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