Friday, 22 February 2013

Poem about Words

Only makes sense really...

Man’s torture,
And his first love.
The greatest power
Of both tenderness
And hate.
Forever growing,
Evolving. Out of our control.
Man struggles to tame them,
He fumbles and stutters
And they all trip from his tongue,
One by one.
Permanent on a listener’s soul.
Oh! how man wishes to reel them in,
Like tiny silver fishes
On a barbed string.
And yet the remain,
Waiting to be shaped,
From a baby’s first wail,
To a dying breath.

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