What do we do?
We trim words, we keep them locked within their very places of intent.
We shred them into fine particles for absolute apprehension.
We euphemize words to pamper the bad and the ugly.
Out of words coat we burst with hopes of unearthing the very serenity of language.
We gentrify the mere letters and provide a touch of flamboyance.
We soothe souls with weaved tales of scripts from sanctified thoughts.
We make the world,
we diagnose it of its sicknesses and offer free remedies.
Out of those scanty pebbles of alphabets, we create enormous effigies, constructions that abounds the skies and mountains of sentences that stimulates minds.
For all things were made equal with words spewed from holy calabashes.
I say God was and still the greatest of poets.
For he created a beautiful world with sentences, made man with an idea of unison and companionship.
Shakespeare couldn’t have said or written more, for he sought after God and never lost sight of the course. His images printed firmly in our minds, our actions and deeds brings to life thoughts of his speeches, like he knew love indeed.