Do Words Make Real

Do Words Make Real?

Do words make real? Letters, concepts shaping,
Sounds and shapes creating on cave's stone wall?

Words give form to thought, reception, perception;
toy with what we see, determine what we say, define and shape.
Do words make real? Would saying so be real?

What of music – surely this is real. Emotive: speech of soul.
Drawing, leading, calling tears and laughter: dancing.
Other-worldy.

The Muse and those who tease insert ring in soul,
pull us where they go.
But is it real because we feel, because we yearn, because we know?​

Sartre, Camus and brothers told us yes -
and no, for answers cannot be their own undoing.
Words say words not real.

Music - wordless – leads with billion points of bearing,
candles tossed about the seas:
now raging, then calm, now lit, then gone.

What is real?
“I am. Is that enough?”
The heart feels eternal without knowing.
To question this, one speaks with empty voice:
Who, exactly, denies existence?

Irony is weak for this, hopeless to explain:
eye curses light, fish defies sea,
woman denies man and man, woman.

It's very real we see when skeptic mind alone is given shrine,
driving masses thinking, blinking, bowing.
“The only real knows there is not,” we say,
smug but dead.

We implode in word, truth, reality.

Too late. Mortality does not lie.
The end of educated ignorance, knowing what but never why.

A call of faith breaks through, the soul of grasping words,
music's secret home.
Faith, fraught with unfriendly friends,
ideas foreign to her person.

The true heart hears her voice, wisdom's call:
“There is, and knowing knows it so.
Question as you will; question the questioner.
I will be here still, rejected lover whom to lose
is to be no more.”