Words

Words, spoken by the mind’s eye
Invisible to the outer yet perfectly
Legible to the inner that is soul
Divided among many, considered circumspectly

We write because we must
We put ink to paper to carry our voices through time.
We hope those reading, are ones to perhaps trust
To truly be understood, no matter the time, truly sublime?

As these words flow immortal to time
Untouched by age, not sickened by disease
Yet blackened by intention or bolstered by egotism
Such a fickle thing, words, the truly deep, spoken with no ease

Rhythm and rhyme, ink blots of thoughts
Laying waste to once unspoken insurmountable tasks
Oh, the chaos, the utter devastation these have wrought
Now in the promise of immortality basks

Read them some fine day
Those fickle words, watch the existing reason
Of such as these, always find a way
To eternally exist, be….the ultimate crime of treason…….