A LOGOPHILE'S CADAVER

Whence he came; clouds or seas;

Into the dust his soul shall freeze.

Slumbering eternal: a cadaver form,

Insouciant to tides and storms.

Yet a heart that breathes in words, 

A heart that flutters as freewill birds;

And fiddles each time in words gallore,

Cherish the sands of a poetic shore.

Words hurl sounds; tunes and feelings,

For umpteen quests and umpteen dealings.

Wounds they proffer so they heal, 

Words form bases of a prudent zeal.

Limerent moments void of words,

Suffer in hush as wingless birds.

Words adorn cacophonous outcries,

To make them mellifluous to yearning eyes.

For petulant men with an ireful mind,

Words serve pleasure from grooves behind.

Though oft words that break a heart,

Brim despair in a morbid art.

Words as noetic fountains gush,

Confer knowledge; all in a hush.

Creating poesies; tales and more,

Words adorn our humane core.

Words can make bonds strong to break,

Whilst can break them off in flecks.

Emotions laden to the words of a soul,

Makes us humans worthy a whole.

There's a cadaver beneath the dust, 

Counting words yet; becalmed to gust.

Years behind thru' sun and rain,

The logophile breathed words; too arcane.

Let his soul in dust and clay,

Maunder words to the gravels: too gray.

Into the tomb of eternal slumber,

Words shall rule in umpteen numbers.