The Beauty of Words,
Doesn't seem to count anymore,
Only lies and foul language,
Seem to excite, satisfy and delight
The numerous, unglamorous fools of the world.
Beauty of thought,
Seems all but lost,
Romanticism, Idealism,
Two 'Enemies' that are,
Easily forgotten and fought,
As everything that's rotten,
Takes hold,
What's left of our humanity,
Remains tangled, and distraught.
The Beauty of Words, Doesn't seem to count anymore The beauty of your words, Sandra, do count, making the world a lot brighter than it otherwise would be. Keep writing!
This is an uncompromising view of our present state of being - The title DARK TIMES casts its shadow over everything in the two stanzas - The details add up to that title. And so as a capsule of the present this poem exists in the moment. B-U-T that moment is surrounded by things that can still REDEEM THE TIME. REDEEM THE DREAM, as T.S.Eliot put it. We can have this hope because of what you affirm BEAUTY OF WORDS and BEAUTY OF THOUGHT, however endangered, they remain and your poem summons us.
Words, in and of themselves, are not intrinsically foul. Intent and interpretation turn them into weapons or tonics.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
Spot on! words so easily expressed but actions not... fabulous likening to Mankind and his/her deception.