Sounds Apt

One there was that danced upon the surface

Seeking honoured place to rest and let it be

Dedicated to communication

Prepared to work alone or company

To singular intention caught in heartbeat

Rhythm born intrinsic in its sound

Worked its way along the lines of empty

Espied its niche and settled right way round

Others clambered to be party to this

Festive wake where all sounds go to lie

Rejoicing in the mini death from random

Found a better place to conjure why

Purpose to existence in their being

Favoured by the one who may not know

Whether each and every grapheme chosen

Will do their job well, meaning to bestow

Rest ye well all phonics torn from alpha

Through omega, all that serve between

Many are there waiting, be not ill-used

Repose, post work, to know that you have been

Picked before all others still awaiting

Skill by some more gifted, all must wait

Practise while you work upon the forming

Perhaps some day may praise at well-placed state

 

Characters that haunt with saddest weeping

Shadows of the words they could have been

Spectred to ill-chosen, used and destined

To roam forever dwelling might have beens

Words evasive, parted soul from symbol

Vacant shells now cast adrift to face

The artifice of empty, this their fate flawed

Selected, misappropriated waste

In phrases, chosen chasms that despoil them

How can any cast thus find in name

Any sound or timbre worth their purpose

Poor letters, never stamped but sent the same

No one ever will recall their passing

Too many of their siblings chosen best

Selected by a wisdom quite elusive

While shallow markings never etched true worth.

Still the sounds browse up and down for tempo

Seeking yet their place upon the map

Desire for destination in their searching

Union with all others for sounds apt.