Song of the words

Words died a steady death.
Defeated, destroyed
like crying waves on the sea-shore
wings of the eaglets that failed to fly
skin of the snakes useless, dry
mask of the mime covering the core.

I took care to shed them.
Attractive, deadly
alive as ulcer, tumors
I was holding them
using, chanting
but they were blooming
only on the page
through my pen
sounding in the air
throwing up,
from my teeth and my tongue
accolades and praises,
their shine and glare
cemented the walls of my prison
with no feelings
hidden in the words
with concern and care,
I was blinded, without vision
the real song, still unsung.

Then I sensed the pull.
From my head
in several strokes
with a never-heard melody
I was sailing off
deep sea, to its bed
from myself
ounce by ounce
waters broke
with nothing to cling on
nothing to renounce.

I came back.
The words ran into me
like long lost friends
I could recognize them
their songs, their tunes
meaningful
with what I feel
for what I fell
that wasn’t love
for sure
just pronouncing hell
hell, hell and more of hell.

Now I have nothing.
But I have them all
the jewels out of the shells.