Tell me, why do you even talk ?

Among all this illusory unfurling of existence, what is the role of language ?
Is it the raw materials, the necessary supply to set all connected beings in motion ?
Is it the package, waiting on the shelves of our lips or in the box or our thoughts for the impulse buy by a fellow customer ?
Is it the factory itself, injecting added value to bits of illusions tied together ?
Does it offer storage space, some warehouse to pile up all this material until we find the appropriate distribution channels ?
Is it the office where engineers conceive innovating solutions to meet their clients’ daily needs ?
Or is it just a bunch of scraps, odds-and-ends ending up polluting an harmonious nature ?
What is the role of words ?

Could they actually be so complex a phenomenon they would occupy all these positions simultaneously ? What are words, really ?
Can they be cooked into a potion of truth or are they condemned to rot in the bottom of old wine skins ?
Doesn’t it take a mad man to still expect something from words ?

It takes a faithful being
To sculpt light with shadow chisels,
To write emptiness with words of matter,
To design sounds and shapes
And tell about silence.

Franck Joseph
©FJ Dec. 2020 – All rights reserved.
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