Words, if you look at them,
are black and white,
a contrast of ink on page,
one layered against the other,
in a titanic battle for power,
the ink pushing against the page,
lines in the blank space,
conquering, consuming.
But when we listen to them,
the words on the page,
we get more than lines of ink,
we get books, wonderful books,
teeming with life and color and image,
the deepest expressions of humanity
and beauty and grace.
This is why I so love words,
so cherish books,
because they defy their skin,
those prisons of bone,
and by the pure depth of who they are,
by unlimiting themselves,
they fill the world with
vibrant life and dreams and hope and imaginings.
