Words

If words could recognize their speaker's voice,
detect the eye's divine torrential tear
of Sorrow's sweet release or Love's rejoice
and feel the fire of Life through pen's veneer,

they surely would refuse the faintest doubt
of how each sound and syllable affects
the heart below the lips that pour them out
in rapt recital of beloved texts.

For words are more than letters settled close.
They veer and vine in neatly ravelled verse
from simplest sweet to grave and grandiose
and urge the famished mind to knead and nurse.

If words could only taste Emotion's flood,
my tears would be replaced with Poet's blood.





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