herbavore
Bluelight Crew
Sometimes, when there are no words,
people say, "There are no words",
yet struggle on
grasping for them anyway,
until the futility fizzles
and sputters
full circle back to
no words.
We need words,
Want words.
We believe that all
the eons of language aquisition and refinement,
our most spectacular tool, after all,
surely must have something to offer.
But death speaks for itself
in a language of harsh kicks, gentle
incessant pokes,
long, spiraling tortures.
I have noticed that when people say
There are no words,
they use their hands.
A hand on your shoulder,
two hands, holding your one hand.
A full embrace, the hands at your back
saying, in this other language,
"I'm here, I'm here."
people say, "There are no words",
yet struggle on
grasping for them anyway,
until the futility fizzles
and sputters
full circle back to
no words.
We need words,
Want words.
We believe that all
the eons of language aquisition and refinement,
our most spectacular tool, after all,
surely must have something to offer.
But death speaks for itself
in a language of harsh kicks, gentle
incessant pokes,
long, spiraling tortures.
I have noticed that when people say
There are no words,
they use their hands.
A hand on your shoulder,
two hands, holding your one hand.
A full embrace, the hands at your back
saying, in this other language,
"I'm here, I'm here."