Words, written words

They fight the binding of their selves to a page

Yearning for the freedom of sound

Oh but that they could fly through the air

Dancing on the earlobes of all they touch

Whispering, lingering, building their tangibility

Worlds, spoken worlds

They hunger for concrete in their abstract

Creating form and substance in the infinite space between

The construct of reality predicated on ephemeral sound

Imagine and so they are

Cathedrals, countries, consciousness itself contained

Universes, dreamed universes

They exist despite me and because of me

Longing to be indelible, a whole image, even a theme

I yearn to be more than a single thread in your tapestry

To leave something more than the inheritance of my bones

Through words, written words and spoken words, eternal


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