Our greatest fear is the only shoo-in:
To be forgotten.
Death is not what we fear,
It’s a symbol of our name being plucked from the web
That no drink, no marriage, nor, no wealth
Can weave quite the way words do.
Words are our ghosts; the echo of our life.
The closest existence to remembrance
In which paper and pen embed identities.
Handwriting; a depiction of previous emotions,
Brash strokes of anger or curly loops of thought.
The written word is as though we have beaten death,
Inhaling the ink; a transportation to reincarnation
By allowing us to take one last breath.
The breath, rhythmic as it is
Our whole bodies dance to the beat.
Words kept us alive, but, music,
That makes us live.
Nature converses in music, beckoning us to listen.
The white noise of a busy city clashes in discord.
Yet, with the pluck of a string and a change of fret,
it prescribes a hearing aid to our lost souls,
Provoking the emotion we need.
Music doesn’t cover other noises,
It helps us become sound.
We love language.
Letters to notes fill our world.
Yet, no language is as loveable as a dog’s,
Where words are no longer written or heard;
They are spoken.
Through the licks of urgency to wipe away tears,
Or the patient waiting, by the door, until you come home,
Or, the rapid leap of excitement at your arrival.
Dogs speak the language of love in the purest form.
And, oh my, would I like to learn.
Don’t talk back
The kindness I was raised with
Goes well beyond
The please and thank yous
My kindness is empathy
It is the armor I wear on the daily
That just so conveniently is also the sword
Females are armored with kindness
To please the man
To balance society
Female kindness is not male kindness
Female kindness is shutting up
Female kindness is not voicing your opinion
Male kindness is so rare it is assumed as seduction
Male kindness is the basics for females.
It is time
To clean our swords
Take out our daggers
Throw away our shields
And fight with fight;