The Fall Of Language Poem by Max Reif
The Fall Of Language
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.
Well, this one is just excellent, Max. Strong, original images all the way through. I particularly like the conscription thing. Miniscule gripe: Drop the Merton intro - It's unecessary and distracts from the beauty of your own words. But it's no big deal.
Max, well! You found your muse again. This is brilliantly beautiful. Thank you.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
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4/27/2024 8:00:23 PM # 1.0.0.1119
I feel this one like you wouldn't believe. It's one of the best flowing and 'tightest' writes you've done; even richer by its choice of the few right words. It's going into my favorites.