Language is the window to your heart
Bending and twisting simple syllables into serene sonnets
Dropping rhymes onto the page like tiny droplets of murky ink
Which blot out the bland blankness of the unknown
It lures you in
Eating away at reality like hydrochloric acid upon flesh
Submerging your soul within the papery depths
As if trying to drown your mind with the sheer power of inky words
Swirling and crashing upon your very being until it leaves you washed up within yourself
Allowing you to sit and ponder your findings
Fresh information cultivating within your mind and rising to the surface
Heating your inner gears as they work their way through each and every syllable
Grinding each piece of lingual energy into simpler meanings with complex origins
Mapping out the story and the characters within
Reaching deep into the depths of the vaguest meaning and pulling out an answer
All to satiate your burning desire to satisfy your burning questions
Suffering through the inky persona's issues
Swimming through ideas
Once more wallowing in the silence of your mind to search for meaning in such symbols
Which have been spilled upon the page
Aren't books wonderful?