They say that words keep coming
After the pen has run dry.
They say that like paper-planes they fly by,
On airless skies, held up with steel imagination.
They say that tongues can stop,
can cut, and can rot away into dust.
Like copper chains can rust.
But spoken words can not be chopped
Or dropped like bombs from the sky.
They say that papers can be burned
yet words that burn onto our hearts and minds
Can not be thrown far behind,
Because they loop around us, and drag behind.
And we quite happily carry them on.
They say that words will never die,
But drift. Just drift by our open windows, and eyes.
They say that words are invincible and that
Not even god himself could stop them.
They say a lot of things about words
and I believe them.
Everyone of them.
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