We exist inside a world created by stories,
morals, and figments of imagination.
A world that at times feels so vivid, so real,
yet still a dream.
A utopia of words floating by waiting to be used.
We create sentences to explain emotions,
hurt and sadness,
but do we clearly articulate,
all that sits within and without.
In a world that works by words and images,
we seemingly float by from one realm to another,
not stopping for long enough to savor the moment.
In a world that flashes by so rapidly,
so drastically at times, we blink and repeat the same movements,
bleed the same emotions without ever knowing the reason.

It is in this deep knowing,
this one fleeting moment that we understand,
that deep down we’ve been sold a dream.
For there is no promised land, there is no fabled castle in the sky, there is only what’s inside.
So, I wonder, in this world do we hide from the truths because we know they are a lie,
or do we lie in fear of what the truths are that have been hidden inside.
Tell me, without words how would you know what everything is, who you are,
how would you describe the feeling of a feather floating afar.
How would you explain the chill on your skin,
or the warmth of a kiss, the embrace of a lover, or the guilty feelings within.
Without words, how would we know what we desire, or what we seek, or explain the images we see.

Without words,
how would we know what to say with our final breath,
on our last day, the day of our rebirth which we call death.
I believe deep down inside, that without words, the world we live in would not exist, it would be empty, a desert of bones left aside.

(19.7.23)