Words are fleeting. Structured sounds of substance none.
Consonants and vowels, Syllables and sentences.
Together framed to stir within the hearer a chosen feeling.
’Tis said that words paint our thoughts;
Yet even this conceit betrayeth their falsehood.
For they declare not, but veil our true intents.
Our veriest machinations— thick and laden with feral wickedness,
Our grim and scheming contemplations and our most dreadful and contriving musings —
All are gracefully robed in the fairest raiment of speech.
Words pierce without a point, and bear great weight yet none at all.
They be but cunning emptiness,
Intelligently meaningless echoes from the void.
Woe unto them that hearken only to the words poured forth
From the lips of the vain-glorious seekers of regard and the velvet-mouthed usurpers of men,
For they burn with longing, yet lack all essence.
Nov 29, 2025
Nov 29, 2025 at 4:39 AM UTC