You understand
The words I speak
Their intent and meaning
Have been long established.

But language is a thing of the past
The present, the new, the unfamiliar
Have no means (other than silence)
By which they can be shared.

They stand outside
What can be spoken of
Our ideas and imagination of the new
End up being frustratingly old.

Language,
The means by which
We come to learn
What we must know

Confines knowledge
Limiting it to the verbal.
We fashion it- tweaking,
Re-arranging and refracting its meaning

In the hope
That we will free it
Through creative expression
And come to discover the new.

In other words,
We intuitively know
That all that we know
Is but our inheritance of meaning.