Words Are Lies — Magical Antidote #2 – Farnilf P.

Words are symbols
of other things.
This word tree
lacks real bark.
densely misperceive
a direct relation,
an inviolable link,
between some
sole mental concept,
inspired by a word,
and an actual thing.
There is no literal truth.
A will never equal C,
much less be.
Words are lies.

Bards sing fair
of far fay glens,
and clerics growl fear
with resolute cant.
Though workers steer clear
when making the grade,
words are still symbols
of far different things.
For what is to me,
is different for thee.
If you did not claim otherwise,
I’d not be so blunt,
but truth is a noun and words are still lies.
Sure, our tongue may be common.
Noisy comms seem intact.
And always we parallax to abstraction
when peering point blank.
For palpable particulars
lay quantumly linked,
well past terms.
Words are lies.

The magician would have you know
incantations invoke Logos.
And sometimes it works, though,
of course, best, wed with science.
Words so employed might demonstrate power,
as those of bards or the state, by clan and from foe.
But before conflating a process with fabulized ends,
it’s wise to recall, every combination of symbols --
calculating, controlling, mystifying, inspiring --
fails to capture the simplest apprehension
of nature’s light play
in the woods.
Words fall flat, short,
lay trapped in small chambers,
where they’re picked up by opportunists
for backstabbing gain.
Words delight and deceive,
spark love, holocaust.
With weak exegesis we forget,
feign certainty, lost.
Words echo in canyons,
ring tinny and die,
far from the roots
of the tree they described.
Words are lies.

Farnilf P. is a member of a pseudonymous arts collective dedicated to world domination. An ephemeral art book of this work is forthcoming from PiNPRESS.online.

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