Lost in Words
Feb 1 2008
I see a house, and then I see bulldozers knocking it
down.
In twenty minutes the house is gone.
Where did it go?
It went into a pile of rubble.
The pile is gone now; the weeds and saplings creep onto
the land, once again.
Left alone long enough the saplings will turn to sturdy,
deep-rooted trees, the undergrowth to lush forest, and
the animals will return from small to big to feed on the
nature.
Whatever man has made, I see bulldozers plowing it all
back to the way it
was. I see all the illusions like a magician’s tricks from
behind the stage and can't be fooled.
When all is said and done, all that is left is one great big
hole. We just have to feed the hole with words, but words
never fall to the bottom like debris of bricks and metal,
crashing with horrible sounds. All the words take soft
landings… lofty, springy, light and drifting back to the
surface, always drifting back to the surface where the
builders of language reassemble them like so many
puzzle pieces so that the landscape looks different,
unrecognizable to the eye. The words see, not the
surroundings, as they join, fit, blend, bake, and form into
what will be left in the rooms, the closets, the libraries
and now the computer memories. That's all.
That's the beginning and the never-ending end of it all.
I see a house, and then I see bulldozers knocking it
down.
In twenty minutes the house is gone.
Where did it go?
It went into a pile of rubble.
The pile is gone now; the weeds and saplings creep onto
the land, once again.
Left alone long enough the saplings will turn to sturdy,
deep-rooted trees, the undergrowth to lush forest, and
the animals will return from small to big to feed on the
nature.
Whatever man has made, I see bulldozers plowing it all
back to the way it
was. I see all the illusions like a magician’s tricks from
behind the stage and can't be fooled.
When all is said and done, all that is left is one great big
hole. We just have to feed the hole with words, but words
never fall to the bottom like debris of bricks and metal,
crashing with horrible sounds. All the words take soft
landings… lofty, springy, light and drifting back to the
surface, always drifting back to the surface where the
builders of language reassemble them like so many
puzzle pieces so that the landscape looks different,
unrecognizable to the eye. The words see, not the
surroundings, as they join, fit, blend, bake, and form into
what will be left in the rooms, the closets, the libraries
and now the computer memories. That's all.
That's the beginning and the never-ending end of it all.
© 2007 by Michael Domino
