My newest adventure is underway. It has lead me to take up residency in a new blog,
Like the Feathers of an Arrow (affectionately known as LFA).

...don't open...don't throw away... is not disappearing completely (not yet),
but postings here will be limited.

Monday, April 1, 2013

6 Last Call: What Will Become of Our Words?

What Will Become of Our Words?

The waiting is over, but
what have we lost in the process?

where are our word?

when time meant something,
our words abounded
desperate to close the gap
of space and time.

(now) we converse in clips & phrases
whittled down to an alpha-numeric code
creating for the future an ancient dialect
only a few will be skilled to translate.

where are our words?
                our love?
                our passion?
                our essence?

when distance made the heart grow fonder
our words poured like rain
down from the heavens
nourishing and grounding our roots.

(now) we connect with little connection
our fingers caress sleek metallic bodies
spreading words across a shrinking world
as a chasm grows between us and those next to us.

where are our words?

(now) we catch glimpses of the past
in faded tissue-thin tear-stained letters
correspondences that lived and breathed
with precious words -- words unfolded,
read, caressed, smelled, smeared
time and time again.

someday our words will be unbound
by a double-click, as pristine and
untouched as the day they were sent;
no stories hidden in their creases
or the letters bled with tears,
just words -- clips & phrases.

where are our words?
                our beauty?
                our passion?
                our selves?

when touch could be invoked
with each physical-tangible
unfolding word, distance and
time meant nothing.

(now) we communicate in zeros & ones
relying on the single sense of sight
where words alone must invoke
more than they ever needed to before.

where are our words?

An Aside:  I can't recall exactly when, but sometime ago I read a poem by Brian Miller.  While commenting, I pondered the following, "what will become of the letters that bleed with tears?"  I tucked this little thought away in my notebook figuring eventually I would come back to it.  Eventually I did, though not as I had expected; I wrote a short poem, Faded Memories (Ribbon-Bound Letters).  It in no way shape or form held within it the original essence of my pondering.  While still not 100% where I thought it might lead, this piece here definitely does a better job at capturing what I first felt.

An (Aside) Aside:  I was originally going to make my pondering the title of this poem, but I don't didn't quite feel right in the end.

I'm ahead of schedule once again, but...this is my offerings for this week's dVerse Poets Pub OpenLinkNight. If you get a chance, check out all of the talented poets who have stepped up into the spotlight.