Whores are Words, and Words are Whores

Some words
I used sparingly
others
I abused
totally
But alas
despite of which
complete strangers
their conclusion
have all become

I clothed them
in regal poetry
gave them purpose
through grand prose
which countless I’ve told

I, the maker
accorded them
their place in the cosmos
in the known universe and beyond
ergo, I own them
and they are mine alone

But what a joke
the muse played on me
for the wholeness
I granted them
defined them not
Instead,
I got mocked.
For the pieces
defined the whole
which the whole
on them do not

As I established my kingdom
with them and their duty
to kiss my feet ever after
The whores were gone
prostituted themselves
in another’s hands

Got something in your mind? Be generous. Leave this page with an afterthought in your gray matter and comments in this prompt.

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