What Will We Do When Words Come To Die?
There have always been poets, playwrights, and authors
who sit soundlessly and stare at a blank page before them
wondering how they will start a sonnet about two lovers,
a play of a tragic death,
or a novel about a perilous journey.
As the hours dwindle away and all hope of pursuing crumbles,
we seize an idea in a moment of insight.
The words flow from a pen and create an entire world
upon an object that could tear with a simple sweep of the hand
or fly away upon the turbulent wind.
We protect our treasure with pens and swords,
right down to the last punctuation
with our only impetus being to not let our art be struck down by the illiterate.
The illiterate, whom do not admire the unique scribbles
that decorates a plain white napkin,
which holds the idea of a realm of wizards, castles, and adventure.
The illiterate, whom call for the demise of dying words
that lingers in the minds of readers of classical novels,
not even realizing that these words are life.
Craftfully structured strokes of the hand create these benevolent letters
that slide from a baby’s mouth to form a syllable;
they are upon the documents that decide the fate of a nation,
they are in the speech between a husband and wife,
and upon the cover of an unopened world!
and these stories
surround us in a blanket of protection.
Protection from the unknown that lurks in the dark corridors of our minds,
from having to witness words being hung by a noose,
and even from the dreaded writers’ block.
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