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May 2011

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Words are a magnificent thing, they have a power all their own, I understand that in many ways by saying such a thing one would then assume that verbal insults could be listed in the same category, however this in my opinion is simply not the case. Words that have power are those borne of passion, fire and a desire to embody the description of a thought with such potency that the reader or listener cannot help but feel most exquisitely the same sensation that the creator of the words themselves did feel.

My thirst for words has grown ever more rampant as my life drew ever onwards. Interestingly I was in the early stages, rather inept as a reader but something about books drew me like moth to flame. As I gradually gained literary competence the world of words in which I seemed surrounded, expanded. Eventually I found a text that in a way broke my forth wall, at its completion an epiphany of sorts blasted through my very being, suddenly the world that did surround me exploded into an infinite universe of literature. My meager beginnings as a reader fell away into obscurity as the entirety of my soul was awed by the understanding that this was what true power meant.

From that point on I was irrevocably bound to the universe of endless words, I read everything, filled my heart and mind with the words of those both past and present. With each passing text more began to rise, with each subject whose surfaced I scratched I found only more knowledge that I had thirsted for but was yet to sup.

The more empowered the words I discovered became the more I noticed my own growing potency, from within me the words blossomed forth reconstructed in their own magnificent form. This kind of strength brought forth in me a new kind of knowledge, the realization that now I to could make the words dance in patterns so delicate and interwoven that they would in my mind take their place among the greats of my inner workings. This is not to say I am arrogant but the structure of my own thoughts took on a new more intricate design as the words I had read before and now continued to read created something greater within me, my beliefs, my reasons, my logic all came into being from the words thus taken in from the pages that I surrounded myself with.

Such was their beauty and strength, often I have found myself so drawn into the story that the words have constructed that I do not emerge till my bones ache and tears threaten to ruin the page. My beautiful books have all been stained with tears, fingerprints and crumpling grip. The more stained and worn the more adored the words within do seem, to take them in over and over again, never ceasing to be moved by their meaning and prose. And such became the greatest wonder in my world the power of words.