The Word

(for Fyodor Tiutchev)

In the beginning was the Word
The perfection of eternal ideas.
Clear and precise like silence.
The Word was the Voice
Explaining all, encompassing everything.

Then came the Fall, the Word corrupted
Vaguery, vagarity and, darkness
Pathetic noise negating the Word
Left gasping for the voice of truth
producing only obtuse shadows.

Thoughts unuttered radiant like the sun,
Full of furious energy, blinding brilliance,
a vision beyond verity, waiting for The Word.
Left with deathless bliss and deathless pain.
As thought now uttered is a lie.

In the beginning was the Word
Clear and precise like silence.
O, if we could make that silence speak
Produce a voice beyond the spoken word
then perhaps would come Its resurrection.

F. Henderson's poetry is drawn from a lifetime on the streets seeking to create the pathways for the oppressed to find their humanity. The struggles, the insights, the hard lessons learned. Anti-social in a world that is anti-human. He has had numerous articles published on American History and the Law and has now added poetry to his arsenal of weapons against this anti-human society we reside in. Read other articles by F..