Whoever discovered words was a giant...

Whoever discovered words was a giant...

Whoever discovered words was a giant.

Did he find them in a dark cave where 

A fire glowed?  Did he come upon them

In a field at the end of day when

The sun was setting?  Was anyone else

There at the time?  Did another witness

The words as they flew from the old wood

Waving their syllables in the cold air?

And what was it that they were clamoring

About?  And did anyone hear their sad song?

And did they whisper themselves into night?

We will never know.  History itself, stammering

Its way into our consciousness, tells the wrong

Done with words.  Such is pathology.  Blight.

©2014 Firestone Feinberg