Mmmm, chicken.

We Speak Words

We speak words, sorrowful watchers, pulling our sacks, hanging low, sagging low with a dusty grin, on our backs, heaving them along a river.

We seek words, solace and comfort in murky stillness, in the back alleyways of darkness.

We cry words, our eyes bleed as our hearts beat, we are the wisdom lost, the eternal infinity shelved in the void, barren, wooden, locked. 

We breathe words, exhale thoughts and dreams as feathers on the breeze, our backs witnesses to grand designs shaped as clouds.

We kill words, children lying in the grass waiting to become something else, something big, something small.

We are words, the shells found along the eroded shores, empty and barren, wooden, hand held voids to frame,

we are only whispers now.

When they came for me, there was no one left to speak up

is it what we are?

I'm going to start posting some old writing I have done:

Scene 1, Act 1

Lo! our hair and plaster eyes,

   plastic sighs, red,  dark red,

                            bloody   lips,

apart from beaten brows, we dogs

              scuttled on floors, dancing streams

   of scattered sun, window panes,

like dogs,   like   bloody        dogs,

              all day like plays that run too long

   we stay unwashed

Failures of our educational systems

But little Mouse, you are not alone,
In proving foresight may be vain:
The best laid schemes of mice and men
Go often askew,
And leave us nothing but grief and pain,
For promised joy!

Still you are blest, compared with me!
The present only touches you:
But oh! I backward cast my eye,
On prospects dreary!
And forward, though I cannot see,
I guess and fear!