Lover of the Words
by Wes Johnson
She was a lover of the words, or so she said, through sweet lips,
Which caressed my soul like warm, flowing honey in June's heat;
And being of like mind my heart was soon lost to me.
There for a time our spirits danced in verbiage and dreams,
We opened like God's flowers to the rain and to the sun -
The music of our words filled us with hope and love.
Higher things than this crass life engenders - better things.
We were closer to that state in which we are born and it was grand;
More angel than dust, more moonlight than shadow.
The words were me - no more or less, I was the song I sang,
But time was cruel and her heart crueler, the music was untrue.
Her words were but a tune to be played for a time and then ended.
There was an emptiness in her; she sought diversion from life,
A game, a distraction - a dalliance with the lover of the words.
The words were not her; like wind, there was no substance there.
She was artful, she was skilled; her locution rose and fell and darted
All in time with the movement of the spirit- and I gave myself to it.
I was enthralled by the eloquence of her song, her cunning symphony.
And in her time she ended the recital - she went on to other pieces,
She went on to other patrons, and left me there, alone, without a sound.
She took the words and left a void greater than the one she found.
The soul is built on words, the spirit sails on ideals high -
Nothing else is more than empty dreams to deceive poor fools like us.
The cruelest lie is the truth of the moment; sing your songs forever...
Or do not sing. Stay in the safety of your emptiness. Live your lie alone.