deepundergroundpoetry.com
The Word
Consider the word.
Relish it. Turn it. Marvel at it.
Thought made sound,
It lingers for its moment on the air
And then is gone.
Yet still it lingers in the mind,
Thought returned to thought.
Or, silent on the page,
Captured in the coils and curves
Of alphabets and ideograms,
Marks, signs and symbols,
It lies in wait to catch the passer-by
And leave its gift of knowledge or despair.
Examine its machinery:
Its hooks, its springs, its universal joints,
Its subtle movements and its fertile power.
See how it locks in place,
Or opens to reveal
New planes and depths of thought.
Admire its bold façade,
Fixed and certain in its form.
But hear its echoes;
Peer down its dusty passages
Which branch and meet through time,
Where recessed doors are closed on ancient rooms.
Relish it. Turn it. Marvel at it.
Thought made sound,
It lingers for its moment on the air
And then is gone.
Yet still it lingers in the mind,
Thought returned to thought.
Or, silent on the page,
Captured in the coils and curves
Of alphabets and ideograms,
Marks, signs and symbols,
It lies in wait to catch the passer-by
And leave its gift of knowledge or despair.
Examine its machinery:
Its hooks, its springs, its universal joints,
Its subtle movements and its fertile power.
See how it locks in place,
Or opens to reveal
New planes and depths of thought.
Admire its bold façade,
Fixed and certain in its form.
But hear its echoes;
Peer down its dusty passages
Which branch and meet through time,
Where recessed doors are closed on ancient rooms.
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