Words of Winters Passed

Often like winter
Flakes fighting mid-air, falling
Creating silence

Sometimes wars begin
Without a way of knowing
What or who to blame

And in the end-all
They blanket the world they had
With perfect cold dead

Similar was the advent of the English war: a murky beginning
With endless rants, words spelled out, diatribes, and sinning
With ink and paper, pens and pencils, vibrations in the voice
Vibrations in the outer ear, converted without much choice

Who could say for certain though?
The one voice that started this war
The one sound, the one word
Or the one thought,
And what for?

What Part began the cataclysmic event?
For surely they all blamed the other
What caused the Parts of Speech, who work together,
To dreadfully hate one another?

It was said, by the Parts, that the Verbs took every last palace
That they took the kingdoms, from the other words
And covered them all with ruby red balas’

Shiny red kingdoms, from many millennia lost
Glittering just like a bloody winter’s frost

Those times though were lost, in memories and more
The castles unowned, heritages unknown
Just the Verbs living peacefully, the other Parts envying their ruby red
None knowing who truly deserved anything. Squalls, now long dead.

But history, not truth, picks beginnings, so it started with the Nouns
They lived in a place, not so grand, and called it the Noun Downs
A place of hills and winding valleys,
With trees and bees and such
But they wanted more
and always wanted much

Ideas and places were all in the fray
They were the entit9es and the thoughts
Other Parts would listen to what they all’d say
This was the other words’ place and their lots
For some time the Noun council debated
Of to gain their kingdom with its castles
Nouns with clout were called forth, and thus slated
Other nouns, the lesser, made to vassals
When the ladder of rule stood up solid
The Nouns readied their vast armies for rule
The other Parts frowned and found them squalid
Not knowing yet, that Nouns could be so cruel
The Nouns set out, concrete, abstract, those things
To rule their world, the Parts of Speeches’ kings

Well the Verbs, they’d been there so long,
Like a long forgotten wrong
One that drifts and tickles ears
But doesn’t hold for endless years,
They knew not what provoked the Nouns
Or why they’d ever leave their Downs

They were the uncaring, unfaring sadness of life
Wondering why two entities made them so
They were dying, the dead, the fallen snow

They had been some sort of nouns of action
But found themselves without reaction
For once they’d been the brothers, all one
But those times were lost and those days were done
Every Part came from a single place of existence
But the Verbs found themselves lacking any resistance

They were the uncaring, unfaring sadness of life
Wondering why two entities made them so
They were dying, the dead, the fallen snow

Once they were action Parts, but no longer
While they grew weak, the Nouns had grown stronger
The Verbs stayed holed up in their castles of crimson
Not wanting to fight, and not wanting to run
“Let the Nouns come,” they figured and said
Holding up fingers and wrists that bled

They were the uncaring, unfaring sadness of life
Wondering why two entities made them so
They were dying, the dead, the fallen snow

And the depth of their listless survival
Was unapparent to every Noun rival
But how could it be? A Part such as these?
Could ever become a part of the freeze
But Verbs are just used, by Nouns and vibrations
Their life isn’t action, it’s merely their station

They were the dying, the dead, the fallen snow

But apart from their definition, no action.

The Pronouns, on the other side, were insidiously taking the Nouns place, still, without the Nouns ever actually knowing. Because Nouns had been in denial since before the time of the balas placement on the castles of the Verbs. Since many eons before. And the Pronouns possessed such good form, that they never felt a need to allow anyone in the world, or any of the Parts, to know that they commonly took the Nouns place and made the sentences they were part of quite better. They never possessed the need to tell the Nouns that without them they would become old and tiresome and, ultimately, unbearable.

So the Pronouns watched the Nouns rally by,
As usual, without asking, just mostly knowing why

The Pronouns watched the Verbs, from away
Watched them waste away their only days

They would have laughed at the thought of it
If it wouldn’t have meant an English rift
A tearing apart, by bit, by bit.
And they almost laughed at the thought and quit

But She stood up and said her saying
Hoping for no English fraying

He agreed and said some more
Hating war and the opened door

Then She was helpless against the Nouns run
And He thought the expressions over done
Just like the Nouns, as they all agreed
Then They gave another selfish screed
About how Nouns are always overrated
And how their time might be outdated

We cheered for They, and She was okay
And He looked away, filled with dismay

For He wondered if they could continue without Nouns
And it caused They to balk, and filled Them with frowns

It staggered in, a wretched odd beast
It was no They, but a Pronoun at least

It held certain sway for the members of Them
It held no delusions, the Nouns It wouldn’t condemn

It knew that the matter, would take an alliance
On somebody’s side, and they’d need reliance

On She He and They, on Them Those and We
On the rest of the tribe, for the Parts to be free

So using their wisdom, They would decide
That in the adjectives, they next would confide

They went to the sea, accompanied by These
Those two were picked as the emissaries

And when they found the first adjective
A very little minion,
Even he had much to say to These and They
Adjective opinion

“Insane!” he cried. “They are insane Nouns!
Starting this war, and leaving the Downs.
They call me Flustered,” said the adjective.
“For that’s what I’ll be.
I am me and my name.
Now if you’ll follow me.”

He led They and These to the kings of description
To help settle the mess, and the cause of confliction

The king, named Red, had little to add
Apart from his opinion that the case was “sad”.

“We can’t tell you why, or stop eventuality.
We add spice to the world, we don’t decide reality.

We describe them, and you, that’s the extent.”
Said Red, adjective advice lent.

The Queen, Sorrowful, looked downcast
And, Sorrowful, said nothing, at the last
Then They and These took a long repast
With the rest of the court watching, amassed
Then slowly retiring, in order of caste
The pronouns left then, the council long passed
The halls were empty, the silence vast
They’s disappointment was unsurpassed
These wanted to travel back home, and fast

On their way they ran into an Interjection,
And these Parts were coupled with two Conjunctions

“Ho!” said an Injection to the They
“Whoa!” said another (for those were their names)

“And who are these Interjections?”
Whispered These to They
“Ho and Whoa, with inflection,”
Though the others I can’t say.

“I am And,” said the other as it rode near
“And I’m But,” said the next, bringing up the rear
“But why have you sought us why meet us here?”
Said They, thinking the meeting so awfully queer
“For the peace of the Parts that we all hold so dear.”
Said And, But, Ho and Whoa, with eyes full of fear.

“It’s just us, and we’re small, there’s naught we can do
The Nouns will kill the Verbs; it’s a fact we will rue
But as far as the stopping, it’s just us, But and And
And the Nouns have the bluster and the strength and the sand.”

They all cast down their heads, cowardly Parts
Lamenting the loss of English collaborating arts

They all sauntered away, not even a pact
Knowing They would do nothing, These would not act

As they dispersed from their meetings,
As the sun went over with little care
From the shadows and darkness
The Prepositions were there

They’d watched the ordeal and agreed just as well
The Verbs were all doomed; they’d go to Parts hell

And the Prepositions went back to the shadows they lived in
Away from the Parts, their noises, their din
They lived with most people unknowing their roles
But used nonetheless, with their function unknown

So they cared quite little, if the Parts fell to their rendings
For Parts such as these, little ceases with endings
They were bitter and remained so, as they always would
Like anything neglected, like unknown things should

So they crawled back inside, back in their sad station
Making context for Parts, establishing relation
Waiting and hoping, for the smothering pall
Hoping that blackness would cover them all

While all the Parts despaired, those unwilling of the Adjectives, and those unwilling of the Pronouns, and a few random Interjections (that wouldn’t stop shouting), coupled with But and And, (the Prepositions staying holed up and unknown) and while the Verbs still gazed complacently out their ruby red castles not wanting to fight yet not wanting to live yet not wanting to too actively act on that wish to not live, the Nouns marched steadily forward into the midst of haze that was the swamps, and murky forests where the Adverbs lived. It was a place, a last neutral and natural barrier against the kingdoms of the Verbs.

The leaders of the Nouns slowed down their vast march
Of why the place had turned to quietly
They needed to know, for wary was this place
Forcing them to be.

Until out strolled a little Part, stocky was the thing
But holding a weight profound and strong
Knowing that the Verbs
For them, something had gone wrong

“What would you say?” said one leader to the Adverb
The mist rose high upon the bogs
And no sounds issued forth yet, not a word
All noises stopped, even the frogs

Then the Adverb’s eyes, they misted as well
And the Nouns weren’t sure, and they couldn’t tell
What exactly was wrong, or whence their unease
Was filling the bog, then the Adverb said “Please,
Leave the Verbs alone, you can’t understand
Their sorrow or sadness; they won’t make a stand
They’ll die at your wishes, they’ll falter and flea
They walk to the shores, and drown in the sea
If you run them out of their castles and thrones
Leave them please leave, or you’ll hear our bemoans.”

“How can you know they won’t put up a fight?”
Said the Nouns, uncertain, not sure they were right

“We know, oh we know,” said the Adverb right back
“For it’s an understanding of the Verbs that you lack

But we, we know everything good about those Parts
We describe anger, and sadness, and all else in their hearts

We know every aspect of them, every distinction
And they’ll let you kill them; you’ll be their extinction

But us, we would never, hurt a Part that was already
Depressed with their lives, their sanity unsteady.”

“For they longingly walk,” said Longingly
From behind a rock
“They quietly whisper,” said Quietly.
“When they’re able to talk.

They talk with a quiet you haven’t yet known,”
Continued Quietly, quietly, like a breeze barely blown.

“And why do you think that, the way that they speak?”
Why do you think that their words are so meek?”
Said Quietly listening for the Nouns’ reply
“It’s a question of what, not a question of why.”
Said the Noun at the front, not sure of his answer
So Quietly informed him, did the Verb enhancer.

“I’ll tell you then,” said Quietly, ever so softer.
“And I hope your compassion, you’ll begin to then foster.
For the Verbs are so sad, words won’t come about
Their sadness expands, if the words teeter out

That’s why they seldom whisper, lest that they cry
It’s why there, on the Verbs’ lips, is where the words die.”

The Adverbs stared, in their swamps, watching the Nouns leave
For they went, walked away, gave the Verbs their reprieve
But from what it came was a sadness, that of the Adverbs spoke
Was a sting in the Nouns: something left their hearts broke

The Nouns, while they walked, started crying their lives out
They all dropped their weapons and the goal of the rout

They went back to the Downs, a slow staggered march
Abandoning their goals, their assumptions, their demarche

The Parts all continued along in their ways
And still continue on, in our lives, in our days

But they’ve never forgotten, their hates and desires
And sometimes their old hatred, from us it conspires
To heat up their blood, to stoke up the fires
Using the language, us, a bunch of sad liars

They all want their credit, and they all deserve it
Even though they’re confined to the law, language writ

Thank goodness they’re there, and didn’t destroy
Even though they’re so different from
Each one and annoy
Their brother
Their sister
And help the thoughts
That we sought

To say that we might love one other,
as love,
they cannot.

Such was the English War,
Another winter that passed

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