Even words

Even words can become all too familiar.

Favourite storybook words carouselling around your brain,

read so many times that they’ve lost their distinction,

their flavour.

You dove in, head first,

recklessness embodied

if not for the fact that you have taken the plunge before,

and every inch has once before been swept

with your eyes and your hands.

Sing-song lines and lyrics are sounding monotonous,

making you plough through their rhymes and rhythms

like chores.

Like chores?

Since when has the poets palate been bland to the ears,

a flat line in emotion?

What are you supposed to do

when the verses you sink yourself into so regularly

won’t hold you up any more?

Words are the faithful lovers,

however quarrelsome they may be;

Words are the burning little suns in the minds horizon,

bursting into flame then dying out-- always reborn.

Words are the sweet lips you grow tired of kissing

without a first kiss.