Each word is Reason’s rescue from a marsh
of incoherence, raised up, dry into
the light - a resurrection that can parse
awareness, bringing sense in retinue.
And
moral grammar underlies the words
just as precise as syntax. Sin is sin
regardless
of evasion. Speech affords
a midwife’s help to show the truth within.
A
word is say-so given, ushering meaning
into
a public land; it crosses on
such passport stamps (on which all are convening)
accredited by common lexicon.
Our culture is defined by lexical
precision, so a word means this not that.
We thrive by paying attention - pivotal -
to fail invites sharpest caveat.
Lip-service
paid to rigour damns a poem
whose
quiddity is strictness, being built
of
words. All casual departure from
observance
makes an edifice on tilt.
And
we ourselves are meaning, as, in us
alone,
it dwells. To cut the tether tying
right
sense to words our suicide and, thus
do
we assist our victory in its dying.
If public men conspire to cut such ties,
their definition lost, horse-trading sense
for fear of taking issue with mere lies,
then few words can be said in their defence.
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