Our Words, Our World

Words are powerful they say, the power of the tongue holds sway in life as in death.

It gently lulls one into a sweet sweet slumber, buried deeply in the finery of its creations. Only to stir a fraction in its throes as it magically weaves webs of a life not yet lived but desperately yearned for in the gullibility of its power.

Slowly I see it, only as a tiny wispy fog at first gradually pulling me in yet shoving. In a rude flash of jolting lightning I come awake from my sweet sweet slumber to the dying echoes of a once beautiful sound, charred remains of a once majestic habitation and a nostalgic yearning for what was lost by my awakening.

The ruins caught my eye then, my ears pricked as the wind whispered sonorously

“The power of the tongue knows no bounds but our words in our world will be words still if we choose to slumber”.