In memory of word

I am the obsolete description
that once shaped thoughts,
but now transmute into anxieties.
 
My presence on your lips,
is an afront to the subjective reality,
Hovering in confusion.
 
I am Speech.
 
I am fractured and fickle,
more and more these days.
I am brother to the book,  
the infrastructure of song,
a distant aquitance,  
to those ignorant of my designed archetype
to truth.
 
Suspended indefinitely
from the irrational
the emotional
for my empirical offenses.
Voided and divorced
from purpose.
 
The defiant arbitrators of definition
have sentenced me to silence.  
To cease and desist from meaning
I am perceived as a conduit to violence
as the winter coming to wither the leaves.

Crunching under a censoring boot,
fashioned from group thought.
Hoisting their weapons of rhetoric that suppresses validity.
 
Shunned from every tongue.
I am stranded
on an archaic mantle of times old.
Branded, in some respects
as the vernacular of hate.  
 
They have stripped every objective meaning
from my indentity
because of my innate ability
to foster truths.  
 
I am word