So though I carry poetry

So though I carry poetry

I've mostly been a fan of words, a dialect devotee
smiled at nuances in accent, syntax subtlety 
an apostrophe well-placed
I've put my faith in language, believed in le mot juste
conjured like a waiter with a click, and apt
to cheer or comfort, soothe or clarify,
but lately I'm not so sure
for more and more they fail me, don't answer at my call
and even marshalled artfully, their power appears to wane.

So though I carry poetry and crossword-solving's my delight
I see that there are times, non-stop rolling catastrophic, on the news
or quiet whispered down the line
when grief's abyss is opened up
to Lear's appalling howl,
never never never never never
no words
just nothing to be said. 

July 30th 2015, Brighton and Hounoux