The language I live in
is a playground
of excessive expression.
Fitted to the guiles of love
and the rascal finishes
of hubris to the slow
steady recline
of simple rationalism.
Words march unto melody
to make an instrument
of the mouth,
a conductor of the tongue
and a playwright
of the mind.
Take pleasure with your ears
at the many sounds
of life’s
and take care
not to disturb
what was brought to you
without consent,
less you spoil
the splendid surprise
of the ignorant wise
and damn
a world of children
to petty perils.
To those who listen:
future now stands
at rapt attention,
awaiting your command.


Bright, Recognition, Language, Future, Wisdom, Children, Poem, Poetry, Parker, Jennings, Free-Verse,

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