Words, the markings and utterences.
From which we derive most meaning
Whether quaint, trite, raucous or morbid
Rising from the sulphured cadences
Wrought of dying dreams
And the ceaseless maelstrom
Of living memories
In finding their and our worth
We as writers express and listen
Verse the body
Language the soul
Emotion the lifeblood
We wake to opened arms
Then sleep in a stranglehold
Our messages express experience
Which itself perhaps forms a parody
Yet what can be drawn from this is shared
Reaching for the mesmerising state
Where imagination's hard grasp
Contrasts with the numbing hours of waking
Inexplicable and yet known to all