There is language which is spoken
Giving breath to gasping thoughts
Sent on rafts of air as tokens
To return what time has taught
Some ideas find the mind smitten
Words worthy of another look
With desperation these are written
Born to bodies of fine-lined books
Hungering for more of what passed before
Sucking the life from the dead
Making memories into metaphors
Spun from pale parable threads
Wisdom comes in many tongues
Many ways to use the air in our lungs
Many ways to link the old to the young
But few ring as true
Give the Muses their due
Deliver us the truth that is sung
There is nothing quite as sweet
As an exhilarating breath
Nor sad as that last defeat
The desperate gasp at the door of death
Truth’s an estimation
Made of fictions that endure
Always in fluctuation
As obvious as it is obscure
Spotter cries out for land
Hanging from the bow
But it’s just a note of sand
Written in the Key of Now
Wisdom comes in many tongues
Many ways to use the air in our lungs
Many ways to link the old to the young
But few ring as true
Give the Muses their due
Deliver us the truth that is sung