Language drips dry.
I hear words of old
Bathed in their luxuriant splendor
Rich in hue, heavy in tone.
Bald and Sparse, is now.
One note, one count,
A cracked bone in the desert.
In days of old
It was all sparkled gilt and gold,
Silk burgundy, royal velvet
Prose drunk with description
Poetry saturated with emotion.
Now description squeaks
With iron stained words,
And passion rusts in this wordless world.
