The Battle With Words

Every day words emerge

Their tiny fingers gripping

The screen’s edges,

Eyes blinking, no doubt

From too much time in darkness.

They arrive en masse,

Waiting further instructions

From me, I presume,

But we have yet to decide

What is to be controlled

By whom.

Am I an empty vessel

Adrift on the Nile,

Passing reeds put there

By decades of memory?

Or, and there is always an or,

Am I stuck in this vast wasteland

Where there is no originality, hence,

No Real Truth!

Oh, for a moment of relief from a life of falsities,

An end to words pursuing me

From dishonest corners of the world

I’ve been allowed to know.

Today I will revolt

And rid myself of all that has come before.

I will confront the silence, the blank white space

And I will stand tall in nothingness,

Allowing others to describe what should come next,


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