Anthony W. Pahl


Ah yes – the night when the muses play, and invite words to come out and weigh
in the minds and hearts of all who dare to paint with pen their solemn fare;
To create a living history of the things that they have chanced to see;
A history that will e’r remain – yet their tombs be wet with tomorrow’s rain.

(Words are such fragile entities, which have minds of their own and oft refuse to play
in the darkness of the night, and choose to stay in dictionaries during the light of day)

Fragile? Words? Nay – I don’t believe that we would be able to perceive
just how lonely we would be if we couldn’t hear but could only see
the mouthing movement of a friend whose words we couldn’t understand;
for a word not heard is a word not said… and of that loss I live in dread.

So write those words, I say to you, and to the paper with pen secure
the ethereal words that would be lost (at an unacceptably high a cost).
From the heart and from the soul tell all the things that must be told
and smile content at the thought of the gift of past your words have bought.

Author’s Note: With thanks to my dear friend, C. Douglas Caffey, a World War 2 Veteran, for his friendship and words of inspiration