Words/by:Haunted Lunacy

Words mean nothing.

The poet said as he slammed

his book shut and tossed his pen 

 to the floor. Just noise, syllables of 

 a discontent madman, and nothing 

 more. 

Just phrases sculpted by our demons, 

letters shaped from our screams.

Quiet utterances of our deepest fears ,

Fuzzy memories of our distant dreams.

The ink will dry, the pages will rot.

We will die and they will remember us

not.

Words mean nothing the poet said 

as he picked his pen up from the floor 

and opened his book, but her, 

she means everything, he said as

he began to write once more .