Oxygen

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Oxygen

Breathe words.

They are the essence of life. Communication is universal and language is key.

Every word is powerful, and any utterance, no matter how small, has the power to wound, empower, enlighten, convict, condemn, control, sway, break someone’s heart, sign someone’s fate, push someone away, draw someone close, or open up a mind to a long forgotten truth that is now taking light.

 

We don’t appreciate them because they can’t be taken away. We take them for granted because they have always been there, even before we were old enough to use them, but in reality, where would we be with out them? We breath them out as they pass through our lips about a billion times a day. Whether it is face to face or on the phone. We write them down as they flow from our pens, keyboards, blackberries or typewriters, each piece of paper or wire locking in a series of electronic sequencing that will transmit our words on to someone else.

 

It sounds complicated but it’s really not. Words are powerful, but like any toll that is in the wrong hands, they have the power to harm or be used in a dishonest fashion. Words can be personalized and usually are, even though each one is used millions of times a day, in thousands of ways and for hundreds of purposes.

 

That is why I

            BREATH

                        WORDS

Like they were lava in my veins, never taking a single one for granted and looking for the beauty each time I hear one for the first time. Dwelling on each and every sentence like when I was a child and would repeat everything anyone said to me, underneath my breathe just to savor the way that the words spilled from my tongue.

 

So now I give any and every word it’s due as if I despair of never hearing anyone say it again. Or what if I too, should forget of it’s existence and it’’s sweet venerable sound should never grace my lips again? I can think of no greater dishonor to the art of language as this. That is why language is my oxygen, and I

            Breath

                                    Words.

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Poetry is not an expression of the party line. It's that time of night, lying in bed, thinking what you really think, making the private world public, that's what the poet does.

Allen Ginsberg (1926-1997) U.S. poet.

SerenityWintirs’s Poems (23)

Title Comments
Title Comments
Happily Ever After 3
Love Is... 0
Obama 3
I CHALLENGE YOU: To Finish This Poem 5
Death By Design 2
Moonless Sky 2
Come to Me 7
Adamas 3
Home 0
Untitled #2 0
Thunder Falls 1
Untitled #1 0
Red 0
Hannah's Song 1
Baritone 2
Chelsea 0
Sanity 3
Void of Progression 0
Steel 3
Oxygen 0
Alone 1
Beyond Light 0
Nature of Man V. Nature of God 1