Words

Why do we feel we must record,
Put thoughts and feelings into word?
Of eyes the tears, of feet the dance,
Exciting risk and thrill of chance,
The pain of loss, the triumph sweet,
Tenure of moment so entreat?
That, set in record, we may hold
Comfort of warmth, the chill of cold.

Or, by recording them, may we
Find a secret, hidden key
To open some elusive door,
Or lock in feeling evermore?