Language speaks in cursive,
Words create its rhythm.
Like the swift pace of a pencils trace as it twists and turns leading following eyes,
blazing a trail entranced by lead’s elegance. As does the slip of a tongue to a lip as to hypnotize the ear.
Eagerly listening for those lyrical notes to wake the silent air.
Desperately clinging to a voice, but through language all is fair.
It’s us, our movements, and everything we do, and I’d surmise we know nothing of its true magnitude.
Consistently changing, yet compendious in the end.
I’ve learned you, earned you, on your value I depend.
For even in the absence of mouth, eyes, and ears, in the deepest depths of my mind I will still find you there.
Language aloud, a poetic affair.