Word Down
Fingers tapping on phones through youthful bones
Dead voices hang bunting
The buzzing bus continues unaware
That the war on speech is won
and words are writing wreaths for our final mutterings
How fast those fingers move
What skills have evolved
In the void between the vocal and the breathless text
Hang your bunting from the stars my words
Throw your fireworks into my heart
But voices
if you fade to whispers
my ears are here for you
