Pate is a head,
pâte, a porcelain,
pâté, an appetizer;
the devil, they say,
is in the di-ˈtāls.
Or,ˈdē-tāls.
How you complicated
love, that single syllable,
how your troubled tongue
twisted and tortured
its sweet consonance,
could not speak,
nor your ear, hear, the
essential emphasis,
where it must
fall — must —
if any word
be given breath.
Meditatio Ephemera 
Wow – intriguing reflection on pronunciation/grammatic intent … when spoken, those little distinctions may elude (even if they register, the receiver may and may be capable of distinguishing intended nuances.) Perhaps this is a call for plain-speak? (Definitely thought-provoking!)
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So glad you enjoyed it, Jazz. I get Merriam-Webster’s “word of the day” e-mail, which includes interesting language- and grammar- related articles. I wouldn’t know the term “diacritic” in reference to pronunciation marks were it not for one of those articles. And, of course, that was the genesis of this poem. So, thanks, M-W!
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Damn that devil! But yes!
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🙂
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