‘Plastic Words’

Part One:

Plastic words are hard to say
and almost never go away
You - with the spade -
put it down, toss it away.
Plastic words are here to stay
and in your grave will only wait in lay.

"But the soil, it will bury"
I hear you say, but my friend
Your words are not of paper that will burn
or of metal that will rust
nor are your words made of fruit 
that the fly's will devour
or of dust for the worms.
Your words are made of plastic
and so here they will stay.
you can cover them, deface them, melt them
but they will remain 
For plastic words may be hard to say
but almost never go away. 

"Recycle? Reuse? Give them away?" 
I hear you search, your hand heavy on your brow
Head to foot in dirt, the words haunt you now. 
Part Two:

I look at this pen that I brought
One out of a pack for a quid
it's identical to all the others
yet only this pen will write this;

A black biro made of plastic
in a way I don't truly know how
not made by the hand that wields it
or any made of flesh and blood and bone and...
I lack the equipment - the machine
that will print it out for me

Was this the design deemed perfect?
for all? or one? 
Where is the original now, 
the cast that was made to copy
by those plastic arms?

what will happen to this pen
when all the ink has left and gone
this little thing of plastic, identical to all the rest
Once upon a time, each pen was crafted by its writer who would
have gathered a fallen feather, stripped it and 
Carved the nib to their individual style.
Out of a flightless feather fallen to the ground
breathing into it new life, new purpose. 
For words to fly.
These plastic words, are they truly mine?

Plastic words. They live on and on.

Written by Accalia Smith.

Published by Accalia Smith

I am a student in the UK studying English Literature at RHUL and an aspiring writer.

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