Weary Words Turn To Song

Weary words struggling with themselves as it were
At some point
All talk only points to either silence or to life itself
Living, doing as the moment brings
Coffee cups, biscuit crunch, the yellow in the flower
Words must it seems become song
Purposeless yet astoundingly beautiful
Pointing to their own inadequacy
Humbling, yielding to an eternal yes
To all that life presents in the moment