Like magnets
Rushing full fusillade at every articulation;
Solidifying the impact of its aura.
The rolling hills
-by formation of the tongue
As words,
of limited direction,
cross paths and entangle themselves--
A meticulously crafted woven basket.

Like a sweater;
Its impact the warmth on the skin,
The touch of warmth seeping into the soul,
melting the prison walls of cold cells;
allowing them to feel the warmth, and, Oh,
The eyes of the imprisoned
—it touching their minds,
Weaving a connection
To all seen—to all known
—Exploiting the erstwhile
To comprehend the new;
To illuminate the feeling to someone anew.

Portraying the very diction
-of speech
Whether it may be
Sent to smite,
Meant to convey confusion;
to inspire the uninspired.
The erratic form of thoughts
Put into words
To make the minds question
All what has been seen and what that mind has retained.

Like the devious links
that equalizes,
A conglomerate of sounds and shapes
to compile understanding;
Clutching the ground--
Breaking soil,
Gathering the basic
meanings to form
Novel creations
That touch the mind and the soul.

Idiolect,
But taken from the same lexicon.
Like being Enthralled?
Yes,
Drawing in the explanations
Of what you never knew existed.
Vindicating:
“This is…”

Language,
A formation of the tongue
As words illuminate
On the seen,
The unseen,
And the looming,
The slow beginning of
The pitter-patter of roots
Enabling the trees to grow.