Doesn't Seem Fair

Words are such puny
pipsqueaks,
a puff of breath,
a few scrambling scratches
on the white face of a page.
Even 20 feet high
and glowing with neon,
they seem
frail.
Yet we ask them to bear
the monstrous beauty
of the world.
Doesn't seem fair.
Unless this ungainly glory
is really lighter
than it seems.