Unreasonable Words (An Abstraction Of Reason) Poem by Smoky Hoss

I tire of my old language.
So many words
no longer fly.
I'm left to ponder:
Who am I?
It seems so strange
that in my mind,
I can open doors
so wide, up to the sky, going far into rooms
containing many new wonders to find.
Yet on this wrinkled paper
it's all ancient,
old and dusty.
A few scattered syllables,
dank and musty.
How many times,
by how many people
in how many ways
can words be flown?
... perhaps as many,
and as much
as the air can be breathed
that's millions of years old...
As long as people have
been breathing,
they have been speaking.
The air will continue on,
refreshing.
I hope the words
shall also.