There is a war here;
a war among the Words
where Meaning itself
is often
wounded or murdered,

taken from the Dictionary Battlefield
and buried in Arcane Cemetery,

or kept alive
twisted to opposite intents
or degraded,
or marginalized
or worse
sanitized by the French.

There is a War going on
at all times-
the War of the Words.

Bad is bad one day
and Traitorized
becomes Good the next day;

where Word Soldiers
don't know
who is who
what things mean
or who is on what side.

Then the French-
always the French-
arrive
with cleansing sticks
to pummel Words
and Meaning
to Haut Regarde!

Quivering, especially the Nouns
comply
and line up all the Foreign Words
march them to the border
ejecting them.

Webster's International
empanels the Word Police
who decide
what Words are Real
and which ones will be released
or serve time
in Archaic Jail.

So many Baby Words
seeking to get born
are exposed to the elements
unless
they are vouched for by the
Select Ones
who can rescue them
by uttering:
'You child
once appeared
in the Mouth
of the Learned.'

Brigades and Battalions
march each day
each time,
each year,
such that
Language itself
can become Confounded
and Previous Speakers
cannot understand Current Ones.

Parents vowel and separate
from their own children
whose Words
are foreign ones
Parents have never heard.

No mercy in this war:
non-speakers
not with the latest Word
are consigned
to Oblivion
where all their utterances
over time
make no sense;
uncomprehended
by those who have
donned
new
shiny
Word Suits
and carry batons.
.
Left behind
the Discarded Ones;
 all march
to Shakespeare's Grave
to complain;

whose haunting
voice from below intones:
'Nothing Can Be Done
now leave me alone.'