My New Language...

I do not a see a word unused.
Whole lexicon is stale 'n old.
I wish I could write a poem,
fresh from heart in fine own words
Here I see many pre-historic,
words smashed by time.
Disfigured nooks and corners,
minced by usage of many.
Some lost flare and flame.
Many are obsolete rickety,
ground fine by scholars.
Licked smooth by tongue slips.
Some words stare at me;
desperately desolate, drained,
passing through wear 'n tear,
holding on to a slow walker.
Lifeless words stand listless,
holding on to crutches so frail.
Some steps out with a walking stick,
roots forgotten Latin or Sanskrit?
Many turned fossils in dictionary,
losing diction and cadence.
Many syllables retired hurt
remains in cold-storage of slang.
I found my language in silence
write my poems in muteness.
Images flower on my face.
expressions tick in my eyes so thick.
Love, sorrow, pleasure and pain;
all wading through swiftly.
Silence is my language aesthetics;
I watch my wordily world in silence,
writing a poem in divine solitude.
JLynn23 JLynn23
22-25, F
May 9, 2012