Words on parade

Roll out the carpet, polish the mics,
The words have come to fight for likes.
They strut, they pose, they pander, they preen,
A gladiator pit—but make it linguistic sheen.

Here comes Resilient, chest puffed out,
Scarred but proud, still shouts aloud:
"Recessions, scandals, climate doom,
Yet here I stand in every room!"

And oh, Iconic, poor exhausted thing,
Once fit for kings, now forced to cling.
"I spoke of pyramids, of fate, of time!
Now I sell sneakers for $9.99."

Behind them shuffle the faceless mass—
The quiet workhorses, the sturdy brass.
The, And, But—no cameras flash,
Yet without them, towers crash.

Then—silence. A gust of fear.
A shadow looms. The end is near.
The stage recoils, the crowd stands tight—
A spectre sways in viral light.

Covfefe.

A ripple, a quake—words shrink in fright.
Gasps. Stares. Phones held tight.
A god? A fraud? A void in disguise?
None dare to ask. None question the rise.
It means nothing. It means all.
It stands where greater words did fall.

And so the others kneel, they weep,
For meaning dies where trends run deep.
A word is worth not truth or weight—
But how it warps the hands of fate.

Yet somewhere, past the viral roar,
Beyond the screens, the market’s lore,
A quiet place, a slower pace—
A scholar guards the written grace.

Miss Jarmy stands, ruler in hand,
Teaching words to take their stand.
Not for likes, not for show,
But for the love of what they know.

FSF

 
From: Karen B