Sunday, May 21, 2017

The Tomb of Words

I dreamt that all poems were written
and that we’d write poems no more
a silence of words fell across the land
every language and every tongue

And when I tried to write the words
into a new and different form
to be original and and to be alive
the words would form no more

And all the words settled into an order
and all the thoughts followed in turn
and all the minds went rigid within
and all the voices sounded along

Neither good nor evil nor hot nor cold
the words fell as an invisible rain
upon the soundless empty souls
and new thought was frozen solid

I woke to find that all the words
had congealed upon my tongue
my mouth too full to spit them out
my throat too narrow to swallow

I woke to find that all the poems 
had been reduced to dust
what was important is not now
and the words interred into tombs

These tiny tombs did not hold
the dreaming words were unquiet
the ghosts of thoughts rose to haunt
my hopes of waking poems once more.


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