On Words

Words are the connective tissue that holds this melting pot body together.

Without words there is nothing. To write a sonnet to a lover or song to a crowd; the word is the possibility of change. Without the word there would be no us. Communication would cease to exist and along with existence itself. There is no more importance than the word.

The word is beauty. The word is life. The word is purpose. Because without the word there would be no such thing as these. No matter what language or what country, there are words. There are dialects. There are communities. There are families.

There is too much of us inside to not express it out loud for the world to hear. A musician cannot fathom life without song. She lives and breathes music, dying without it. Without the basic word, she would be dead. Unable to express her inner most feelings, they would have eaten away at her until there was nothing left. 

Words are one's emotions. Anger. Sadness. Happiness. Calm. Peace. Without these words, there would be no emotion. We would not feel, because we would not know what feeling is. Confusion would be the only feeling, but even with that we wouldn’t know. Words are the understanding of ones self and the world in which we live.

Words are the world. There would be no evolution. We, as a people, learn from the generation prior and the generation prior to that. We would not grow. We would have no roads. No homes. No town. No City. No country. No teachers to teach and no students to learn. No way for fathers to communicate to their sons on how to survive.

The poet's soul would be locked in its cage for years, unexpressed, wasted in a world without the tool to which it can escape and flourish, soaring over the world enlightening it with beautiful words caressing the senses of man, helping him understand the meanings of love or happiness or sadness. Or even existence itself. Philosophers, without words would be nothing but men without purpose. And without these philosophers, would there be poets to find the words to ask such beautiful, yet tormenting questions of life?

“Is all that we see or seem

But a dream within a dream?”

There would be no coherent thought in one's mind without words to organize them. Words trample through my brain as I try to sleep, restlessly tossing and turning. The vision of scrolls with words cascading down the mile-high sheet of paper wake me with what must be done within the coming day. They even surround my dreams, highlighting my inner most desires and pains, tearing my eye lids open in the middle of the night putting a sickness in my stomach from such profound, yet crippling words.

Words may be pain. Words may be sorrow. But words are life. In life there will be pain and sorrow, but without it, there would be no way to truly learn of ones self.

Words are the key to a lock not yet found.