Political Conceit

From the grunts of primitive history
evolved the erosive, often subtle sound
of vibration’s gaping mouths,
like yowling crevasses echoing into words
fearfully voiced from lips, if closed,
uttered only the silence of thought.

How Punchinello this expression called vocabulary,
where intellect’s immutable dance-symbolesque
feels it must manipulate like a puppeteer,
determining what is seen, heard,
and ultimately felt deep inside.

Desperately…

We cling to our tethered language,
fearing loss of grip will occasion precipitous failure
into glaciate-layers of lingual fossils,
words uttered carelessly with little thought,
fracturing our resolve into scree-like projectiles
careening internally out of control,
rendering us defenseless and immobilized.

Resilience prevails,
patiently allowing restless valleys
of linguist silence to roil through evolution’s next lingua franca,
becoming the next iteration of sounds and symbols,
destined as fresh and new…
so we tell ourselves.

For some,
to take a moment of calm to stare into the eyes of their cat or dog,
or a trip to the zoo, is to per chance witness silent versions
of language and communication that seeks no superiority,
only the willingness to allow a bit more acceptance and understanding.
to balance man’s political conceit. So say the captive children in Texas.