We steal our words from a primal source
existing before utterances took their course
Forgotten in faded mists of history,
echoed in our own crib side infancy,
is lost the frustration and isolation
that comes with no means of communication
Imprisoned in the primeval dark,
we search for a light, a verbal spark
At first we cry, a groan, a moan,
to let others know they're not alone
We desperately search for a means to thresh
out our emotions, buried in flesh
With a gasping, grasping, groping attempt,
to express hunger, love or contempt,
a shaping of noises is expressed
to spit out what's deep inside our chest
There's a burning thirst for understanding,
but confusion, is comprehension's river damming
With guttural grunts we flail around
to breath a thought into a sound
Yet no clamor conveys the feeling inside,
transmission of peace or hate to describe
So we imitate sounds that others make,
butchering feelings and emotions that are fake
Tired of all our verbal philandering
we're made a prisoner of misunderstanding
Until out of desperation we reach audibly
to vomit an unintelligible cacophony
A volcanic force in convulsive spasms
spontaneously erupts in vocal orgasms
All words stolen, from their inventor
All thoughts plagiarized, the ideas of a mentor
That's our feeble human attempt,
internal experiences in poems to vent
Words created and looted now abound
to put nature's mysteries into a sound
-
Author:
sorenbarrett (
Offline) - Published: April 25th, 2023 06:17
- Comment from author about the poem: Hermes is the god of words. They say that a person can not remember before they acquire language but I have verified images and feelings from infancy. I have visual images of the house I lived in and events at six months of age, my parents having moved out of that house when I was a year old. The images and events later confirmed to me by my astonished parents. I also remember the frustration of not understanding what was being said to me and not being able to voice my desires and feelings at that age.
- Category: Unclassified
- Views: 12
- Users favorite of this poem: L. B. Mek
Offline)
Comments5
Baa! Very right.
Thank you for your review and comment it is appreciated
It has been oft said that there is nothing new under the sun.
Thank you Cryptic. So it is said in Ecclesiastes and I believe it to be true. If it was then what more so now.
Yes - the proposition that you can't remember before you have language sounds completely dubious to me, Soren.
You cannot convey any of that or thoughts and feelings to others without words and the lack becomes frustrating in the extreme.
The struggle to become articulate is richly described in your poem.
Thank you Dave yes they say that memory is linked to language but I know that there is visual memory as well. I appreciate your review and comments.
The word “we” does not apply, that is an inaccurate supposition, maybe just say “I” and avoid dragging anybody else in this fictional world created only to support a false theory that those that “ vomit an unintelligible cacophony” require or deserve to solace of company. When you write something this bleak you should just burn it.
Thanks for the advice
You humble me with your gracious response and I apologize. Admittedly, I allowed a personal sadness to distract me and I childishly lashed out in anger using the piece yiu as a target , forgetting the concept of community and attacking an innocent undeservedly. Please accept my regrets?
Brilliant work, dear cherished Poet
such a great reading experience:
'Imprisoned in the primeval dark,
we search for a light, a verbal spark
At first we cry, a groan, a moan,
to let others know they're not alone'
'With a gasping, grasping, groping attempt,
to express hunger, love or contempt,
a shaping of noises is expressed
to spit out what's deep inside our chest'
(crazy, we're both sharing work
as study of words/name
personalised etymologies
with a nod to our childhoods..)
lol
Thanks so much L.B. for the support of this feeble attempt to express something burried inside. All of our poems do not turn out to appeal to others and may not rank as very poeti, by acceptable standards, but they like our children are not perfect but none the less are ours. Thank you again for the cherrished review and most kind words.
Amen!
(and so well said)
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