The wordsmith got to work
sometime in the late afternoon
convinced the world’d be a better place
had only every word a little blue,
a meaning utterly unique,
a shade of every shade
and his happiness’d be made,
but he failed to see that
The words keep changing
the words keep changing
they won’t mean the same tomorrow…
The wordsmith’s apiffany
lasted but for a second,
his revelation then swam in sour doubt.
By the time he would be done
with every word,
built the tree of meaning subsequent,
again he would have to start,
again he would have to change,
’cause he failed to see that
The wordsmith sat frozen,
what was his purpose if not this?
He saw the need of such clarity,
but could only appalled stare at the mess.
Hopelessness wandered into his heart.
For three whole months he’d lay bed rested.
Eyes fixed to the ceiling
as reality came searching finally
he’d go on writing as before