I wonder what Langston Hughes would’ve done
if there were no words – I wonder how he would’ve
taught the world about deferred dreams if there was no way
to write the blues. I wonder what would become of language
if the fears of Shakespeare didn’t tell tales
in old English rhyme and didn’t retell history in line
after line of rhythmic poetry — I wonder if the beat poets
would ever be – if they weren’t allowed to write
the bullshit we all thought but were afraid to pronounce
in four letter words. What would’ve become of Poe & Plath
with the ability to communicate the dark maze
of the mental wrath? And would there be a Bukowski
if words couldn’t express their anger about the digestion of life
in the transformation of obscenities
yelling off pages of obviated temper tantrums. Without words
the world would be a population of
mimes; faces written with no expression and histories told
with no embrace of future challenge and without words
the language of poetry would be absent of style. The grammar
of our emotion would be lost in the evolution
of silence and then there would be no one to discover
our internal voices and where would I be — If there were no words
to discover the poetics of my heart.
© 2012
Tarringo T Vaughan
Absolutely fantastic!