Words

14 06 2013

Timeless are the words we write, we glimpse them into each goodnight,
into the void, where none is heard – where spirit never felt a word.
Words battered traces, left behind, while history, unfolds… Unwinds.
Upon the path it blithely took, the pen… and someone else’s book.
Now upon a midnight dreary,     *
as I ponder, not weak, nor weary,      *
the silent visions, some minds took… before they penned them, in their Book,
with Webster or Colet at hand, to make the final product bland…
So that it could be, not merely digested, but singeing Truth, as it suggested.
Though some may find a way around, the moral ties that keep them bound,
to rocks of knowledge-slabs of stone-Empiric gods that stand alone.
So few, will ever journey on, to where the path goes ever on…

The path that leads from their front door,

to where they’ve never been before.**

 

*(borrowed){somewhat}

*(again){somewhat}

* *(Most assuredly borrowed)

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One response

23 06 2013
Charron's Chatter

Great capture. Tis what they are–an adventure.

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