Raw Honey Poem by Sonny Rainshine

Sing me a song without lyrics,
like a jazz instrumental from the sixties;
liquid emotion decanted from the funnel
of a silver saxaphone; the throbbing throat
of a thirty-year-old trumpet.
Sometimes words extinguish true feelings,
reduce them to gutteral noise,
the ephemeral hissing of sibilants,
words have too many associations;
music is raw honey.

Sometimes I wonder what it felt like
to be human before language was born;
a new born baby communicates
and doesn’t know a vowel
from a consonant. How alive
must they be! How vibrant.

Yet, we’re stuck with them, words.
They bind us together as they keep us apart;
the song of humanity pulsates
throughout the earth,
a rumbling cacophony.