speaking becomes exhausting.
And maybe that's why we shrink.
Half the words we say
lose their way to the tongue,
and even the heaviest of thoughts
float like a feather,
light and insignificant.
This is how small wars are sparked
and connections sacrificed.
And this is how we prune the truth
and master the art of lies.
Because, often enough,
lying is the shortcut to silence.
And words are never enough.
Coming back to read this again. I feel that tired aspect in this poem, that we try and try to use our words to move forward, yet do we get anywhere? Do words lose meaning over time? Do we overcompensate in order to tell ourselves we're really making a difference with our speech?
Love the push and pull and weight of your words. And the question it inevitably raises: will we make our silence count or do we bother to speak if it's just rehashed truths?
Abed this is great! And it's true, if no one is listening the words are insignificant and the truth gets lost.
"And this is how we prune the truth
and master the art of lies."
I love this line! :-) x