Two cents of words

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So the talk’s gone. Your promises still
echo (and your words still
overshadow), but there is no more;
a lie said and a lie more, a promise
broken and a promise less
but my devotion isn’t cheap( enough) and
my voice (broken) not on discount – my
words are reserved irrevocable and
my time is taken, though no
reservations are observed unfaithful (and
no words written). It’s
not so easy, not so easy to
put it away not so easy to
let it decay – and what has been
will be; we will
talk and look (ever feebly) still
with eyes unwept and
tears unbled.

But talk is cheap, dear
friend, and every day
empty words fly and
thoughts unvoiced die. We
say but we don’t
talk, and we
hear but we don’t
listen as wordless days run by.
Nights glance in passing, and the
forlorn wind murmurs, and I still say I’m okay –

but talk is cheap, dear
sister. Our speech is a dime a
dozen, our discussion
endless two cents –
promises (one too many) fly
right by, lies
tabled and truths
unwritten. Wordy vows
fade in time, sentence by metaphor –

but talk is cheap, dear
love, from endless verse to voiceless prose.
Your words – and my rhyme – are
worthless
alike; ink drowns us and paper mountains
butcher us, those ever restless blades.
There’s always something
more to say –

but talk is cheap, dear
stranger. The world’s a lie,
and soulless we wander (no
words, no paper); I’m no Cicero
and you’re no Austen, though
ink we spill and words we
waste. But no more; nothing will
out, for there’s nothing to say
anymore –
to the questions left unasked
are the answers left unspoken.

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Filed under Personal, Poetry, by Kenneth