Words

What is the value of these words?
Words are but naught
I’ve only ever used words to
Unlock doors
I’ve only ever resorted to these flimsy things
In throes of complete misery
They are but a light
At the end of this funnel of existence
This existence getting thinner as I move on.

Words are weightless and yet
When I whisper things to the wind
They manage to carry it a few yards
Before dropping them into oblivion
I do that often
And every word of mine is met
With a rustle of dry leaves.
But it’s mostly trees speaking to me in sign language

I’ve used words as a knight uses sword
My words were the infantry’s shield
A phalanx position
More to hold things inside
Than to let anything in

My words were once the hands
Of Florence Nightingale
Tending wound after wound
Tirelessly amidst the cries of pain
Sometimes my words would spar with the pain
And sometimes my words would lose.

I sometimes wait for thieves
To steal my words
May it do them more good
And I would then learn the value of my words
Sell my words at an auction house
Let me hear them call
“Look the price of these words start with a smile.

Do we have a smile?”
“Going once!
Going twice!
Oh we have a frown, ladies and gentlemen!
So right now the highest bidder is someone who took offence!”

“Going once!
Going twice!
Sold!”