Circular Tides

We are beyond words, you and I,
Old friend.
They litter our path,
Scattered like wilting flowers,
Behind us.

Remnants of thought,
Of words and ideas.
A Lego castle,
Crumbled to pieces,
Civility ceases.

Cubistic words, tangential and bare.
Fractal patterns, lean and spare.
The unborn word, embryonic,
With someone’s name on it,
Like a bullet in a gun.

Words, juggled this way and that,
Some thrown like bricks,
Some merely crafted to trick.
Jesters all, we speak to the herd,
Believing it to be the final word.

Failing to understand,
The meaning of words,
We’ve uttered along the way.
Their taste, the bitterroot of life,
Understood, but far too late.