Dangerous Words

I peck like a bird
for seeds in the dust,
hunt the keyboard to find
words to speak for me
but I can't find any
that fit, they all come
pre-packaged, meanings included,
like frozen dinners on sale,

this language I speak
shapes the lens I use,
the way I frame the view,
sticks me in a straitjacket
of meanings, nuances
I wouldn't notice if
I'd worn it all my life,
but I haven't,

I spoke two languages as a child,
came to know there are things
you can say in one that
can't be said in the other,
meanings the words won't allow,
twists of thought unique to each,

words of love sing across
these language gaps, but even then,
the scents of the words change,
like the aroma of coffee varies
in a hundred combinations
from the beans used
and the flavorings added,

if I say I love you,
are you hearing what I mean,
or does your private language
spin webs that I can't read
that lock me out with my own words,

don't ask me to say I love you,
words are too dangerous for that.

© Zen Oleary
June 20, 2003