Language

From the grunts of primitive history
evolved the erosive,
the sometime subtle sound
of vibration’s gaping mouth,
like a yowling crevasse,
echoing Nature’s words,
fearfully voiced from lips

that if closed and sealed,
might bring silence of thought.

How Punchinello this expression called vocabulary,
where intellect’s immutable dance-symbolesque
manipulates like a puppeteer,
determining what we see,
hear,
and ultimately feel
deep inside.

Desperately…

We cling to our tethered language,
fearing loss of grip will occasion precipitous failure
into glaciate-layers of lingual waste,
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 polyglot sediment,
to roil through Time’s next lingua franca,
next becoming an iteration of fractal sounds and symbols,
ordained as today’s “fresh and new,”

continuing to invent itself,

while cave drawings stir,

create some dust,

and await the next cosmic shrug

at Man’s sapient disquiet.