There are no words, no words at all,
That can describe creation’s sprawl.
Yet from the silence that has no name
Words form quiet patterns that explain.
So let us the truth of words explore,
To see what lies within their core.
For words are much like you and me,
Their nature reflects our reality.

In the mind, on winds of thought,
Words just float until they’re caught
And then in patterned forms they dance,
Truly a word’s creation is not born of chance.
Patterned playthings that minds can use,
For whatever whims that minds will choose.
Used for purposes words can’t conceive:
To explain, describe, convince, deceive.
Then after words return to find
Peace and freedom within the mind,
Until they’re recalled to fulfill a need,
To be used again for some wordly deed.

Do words consider themselves as real?
Or have word selves that think or feel?
Do words have Gods to which they kneel?
Or obey word laws and have word ideals?
Do words know truly what they mean?
Or hold their wordselves in esteem?
Do wordselves care and get upset
When their meanings you forget?

Do words grow fearful of the strange?
Or suffer when their meanings change?
Do words have courts and wordly laws
Where others judge the hurt they cause?
Are capital offenses a word’s worst crime
Where words are sentenced to be redefined?
Can words be sinful or feel self pity,
If not always perfect, wise and witty?
Do some words fight for fame and glory
On the pages of some pulp mystery story?

And words that are used for hate or strife,
Does their wordgod deny them afterlife?
Do words strive for word control?
Do words believe they have a soul?

What if words thought this were true?
What would you say? What would you do?
A difficult problem, as you can see,
To explain to words what it is to be.