What else could we fear more,
Than something that may survive us?
Words, swirled from our core -
Venomous, ominous, pseudonymous.
Much like a parasite in a host,
Threatening to eke out on our energy,
Sneaking, spying like a ghost -
Are they an incurable karmic allergy?
As a straited sapling in a seed,
Seeking the sky, and thus to multiply,
Words seem but to merely need,
A mind womb, aided by an ear or eye.
Could we let 'em roam the head,
Brook obscene echoes in the ravine?
Aren't woeful words best unsaid,
If nothing is as viable as a quarantine?
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