Words – Vincent Edward Manda

On one hand

They are meaningless,


Just words.


On the other

They are what you’re selling,

What you need to buy,

What you want to give

And what you’d like to receive.


Push, purloin, dispose of or pillage,


Words are everything and nothing,

Sticks and stones.


No, they aren’t food,

But they are a means to food, water and air…


They’re steaks sizzling in the pan,

Rivers feeding the earth,

Winds whispering through leaves or

Shit slowly circling the putrid, partially blocked sewer.


Words are life and death,


Or, to be pedantic

Death and life are words,


Just words.


his name rhymes with ‘mince’. He’s rarely without a notebook and can usually be found next to the closest bottle of red wine. Previously a writer for The Roehampton Lane Journal.

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