Wednesday, 24 August 2016

Silence in the presence of promise

In my mind I see words as they are born, grow and develop. They breed through use and pass from one mouth to another like a disease. Successful words overpopulate, absorb new meaning and, like, become a blight. Old words gather dust and rot; occasionally brought out and presented with elitist smugness to confused onlookers who cannot take it away with them, further sealing their fate.

Words join, mingle and merge. They have offspring and mates. They are attached to music, cadence and rhythm for meaning and pleasure. They have the double entendre, puns and jokes. They are synonyms, antonyms and rhymes.

They sit on the tip of my tongue, in the back of my mind and feature prominently in whirlwinds around my conscious when I want to sleep.

And yet, and yet.

I can sit here and stare at a blank whiteness for hours on end because to use any one of these vibrant individuals for my own ends seems impossible.