I am Made of Syllables, not Words

I am made of syllables

                Not words

I am made of sounds

                Some yet unheard

 

I conjur up new verbage

                And order sounds about

Sometimes I add music

                Sometimes, I can’t work it out

 

For who am I without words

                Old and new

What have I to offer

                What am I to do

 

Before I was a mother

                Before I learned the laws

Words were my first addiction

                And disguised many flaws

 

And now they are my comfort

                My life-long inner soul

I read, I write to my heart’s delight

                Those syllables of gold