How beautiful, how perfectly illuminated
the blank page – immaculate,
immutable, true,
innocent of any act or wrong intent –
now made to bear the burden of many
words (a labyrinth of words,
a cacophony of words, words within words,
prayed for, dreamed of and forgotten).
The dream of a tao of words, a nirvana
of words becomes a purgatory of words,
each word made to carry the whole
weight of birth, life and death –
words that cry Truth! Truth!
and ultimately lie or must be made
to lie – words conceived in hope,
trust and love that bring only
frustration and a bitter despair –
words that resemble a Turing
machine of clichés (where to write or speak
is only to string cliché upon cliché),
where every word is a cliché –
where each word is an abomination,
a consummate evil.