In the beginning was the Word
With a good beginning.
But they grew used to it —
It no longer hisses.
They put a period,
Made it general.
Nothing is needed —
It lies in a corner.

It grew covered with rust,
Mold eats it away.
And the tongue withers
Without it.
The daily bread has died away
And there is no strength,
That is how a man perishes
Without words.

Something he says
Looks businesslike,
Runs, walks,
Writes something, makes noise.
Thinks, creates,
But knows no meaning.
He fills the stove —
And it does not burn.