by Ray Davison
and Kathryn Inman
But without words, what are we? Grov'ling beasts?
Without words, why should we shamble 'round home
With no chance to dine, to sup, or to feast?
Without words... in what other soft, cool loam
May we lay down our world-weary heads
you're getting warmer
To run out our tears, our griefs, anguish
I am very articulate
but that doesn't solve everything
and I think
How else might we run, flee to our beds?
Must we not daily the Muses' faces kiss,
that the things it doesn't solve are the most important, at least the most relevant to my life and mental/cognitive
Lest they be angry? Should not we bow down
this doesn't encode a diminishment of my appreciation of words at all
And worship at the font of Parnassus
and no, we should not bow down
So that we might later rise up with crowns
nor guide ourselves by the oracles' words
Of peace, and joy, sharing in catharsis
crowns of joy?
Of the gods here and below, but most of
and peace.....what would that really mean?
All that of Him of Grace, the King of Love.
Thumbnail image by Evelyn Stetzer.