What are the written words
But scratches etched into the fibres
Of trees that once were
Pulped and mashed and washed and flat
In layers out drying
Into books for binding
Our recording
Of voices long since dying
Stones, papyrus, ink and stylus
Sticks with notches
Runes in lines
Lying in ruins
Sounds upon the air
Vibrations in the ear
Words making sense of what it is we hear.
The spoken is gone
The written lives long
And our words becoming
An ancient tongue