Words are just Words, Original Poetry by Thomas Martin Saturday


The past is history.

It’s all been thrown down,
meaningless phrases
broken possibilities
our memes all gone away

into a twilight world
we know not,
where words are just words
failing to move
to lift
changing not a single thing.

No more books for our words,

we search in vain
for an altar
upon which to lay them.

They’ve all gone away now,
grass growing in the cracks
of our minds
just endless winds
silent winds,
where human imagination
used to be.

We need visuals,
gotta’ have that video
give us the visuals!
turn up the volume
praise be that audio!
a steady beat;
manufactured inspiration.

All of it
clawing up the walls of emotion,
pushing for a head-on collision
between understanding;
only mindless chaos,
a diversion from individuality
human autonomy,

to what the controllers
desire for us

until remembrance,
that we had something,
it was there, but what
what was that something?

Now lost in emptiness
that fades like the fog
burned off
under a morning sun
a land taking no notice,
just silent winds
blowing the grass in the cracks
of the dead places.

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