The Word

Word: it could be a noun
it could be a verb;
it could be a renouned verse
of shoering blessings,
it could be a curse.
It could be a lesson
on how to nurse
our own rage;
by reading the meaning
of life from our own page.
Scripting immortal plays
for our own stage;
to transcend space and
time, in our own age.

I try to find meaning to my breath
and I choke.
I scope around me for
a word I can grope.
A word which, if I spoke,
would untie the knots in my throat.
So that my mind's eye sees the
visions behind the screams of this ghost:
It's face a valley with streams of tears
telling a fearful story, which lay for years untold;
As young as my first dream,
growing old as the nightmare's unfold.
These words are rocks I gather, not to throw,
but to piece together,
and marvel at the boulder I mould;
to outlive all winters after my body turns cold.

Damn I digg this one check out mine mabe you can give me sum tips