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The Fall Of Language

Oh, words,
you were empty vessels
grazing on virgin hillsides,
transparent to the sun.

Conscripted and sentenced
to forced marches,
charging into no-man's land,

you forgot who you were.
Repent, words. Remember.
Purify yourselves.

Find those white wings.
Fly up and out
a chimney in the heart,

on a dark night
when no one sees.

User Rating: 5,0 / 5 ( 3 votes ) 3

Comments (3)

I feel this one like you wouldn't believe. It's one of the best flowing and 'tightest' writes you've done; even richer by its choice of the few right words. It's going into my favorites.
Well, this one is just excellent, Max. Strong, original images all the way through. I particularly like the conscription thing. Miniscule gripe: Drop the Merton intro - It's unecessary and distracts from the beauty of your own words. But it's no big deal.
Max, well! You found your muse again. This is brilliantly beautiful. Thank you.