Oh, words,
you were empty vessels
grazing on virgin hillsides,
transparent to the sun.
Conscripted and sentenced
to forced marches,
charging into no-man's land,
you forgot who you were.
Repent, words. Remember.
Purify yourselves.
Find those white wings.
Fly up and out
a chimney in the heart,
on a dark night
when no one sees.
Max Reif
http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/the-fall-of-language/
