I detain them anxiously

at the border of my mouth

like nails to be hammered out

I commit small phrases to

hard labor within the bleak

Siberia of my heart...

I sense lines best beneath my

index whilst running over

my reflection at certain

sections of everybody

else's literary sweat...

words, segments, whole sentences

paragraphs, pages, chapters

parts, books, sequels, collectives

volumes; silent, or loud, this

"in the beginning," of it

at the edge of every thought

half forgotten genesis

it isn't easy

it isn't easy...

being a wordsmith.

#Words #Challenge

<font face="Helvetica" size="3" color="silver">02.28.2018</font>

Tango of shame

I am to blame

words carving

life slot starving

magic pluck

no such luck

dip into soft jar

weary hand from afar

widen the road

madness unload

stomp into ground

solution not found

naked words

hushed birds

molten breath

sudden death

skeletons strung

clotheslines flung

slice the wind

cover sin

tense echoes

lined in rows

no elbow room

certain doom

long reach

I beseech

infinite sky

let words fly

unhinge the strings

free thought rings.

when words flow forth,

like a faucet turned on,

or a river running wild,

they become power,

energy,

a sense of purpose,

a reason for being.

when words are read,

they transform,

alter,

change a person's world,

from the first page or chapter;

even until the ending is reached.

when words are spoken,

they create response,

soultions,

answers,

the need to just be heard.

Such is the power of the word.

A single word

has changed a world,

has changed a people,

has changed what is around us.

Words are such a powerful thing.

They have brought us to where we are now.

What if words were kept in a library, and you had to check them out if you wanted to use them? Would they all be alphebetized, or would they be listed by subject? Would there be a roped off Adult section at the back? Would there be metal and wood dividers to keep the words upright? Would the words have covers to keep them from fading? Would there be an oversize section? Could you put a hold on a word so only you could use it? How long would it be before you had to return it? What would the late fees be like? Would there be a cardboard box near the door full of old words no one wanted, that you could rifle through on your way out? Would there be a shelf full of popular words that famous people recommend? Would people browse the shelves to find a word they like, then retreat to a secluded corner of the library to study it? Would there be word stores, word clubs, high school word reports, illegal word pirating sites? Classic words, banned words? Would everyone be quieter? How on earth would you write anything?

Leslie Kessler

None of these darkened pixels on your computer screen mean anything.

The scribbles of ink in your notebook have no more inherent sound to them than the blank spaces in between them.

The inflections of your lips and tongue create nothing but meaningless noise.

But these pixels, and these scribbles, and these inflections mean worlds to us.

They make us love, and they make us go to war.

They describe themselves, and make us think in ways we could only explain by ways of using them--

But in reality,

Words are nothing but a myth of the collective mind.

Someone once said, “words mean more at night”

And I agree.

When all is dark,

Or when you‘re alone,

Reading into every word, syllable, letter as if it holds your fate,

Down in a spiral of your own creation,

Suffering at their effect, words—

They can be your demise, or they can be your deliverance.

i love you, she wrote

and before the words could etch into

any other mind

she took them out of the world

just as she brought them in.

all but the faint

traces of scribbled thoughts

lightly penciled in

remained on the scrap of paper

where her truth threatened

to be.

now

the words

were a collection of rubber shards

scattered along the desk

before she blew them to the floor.