(Verse)
The author, the arbitrator of the pen, the things he writes, what he starts to make and where it ends, the imagery, conveyed through depicted speech, how the letters come together and the way the symbols speak, children being given books at younger ages, fascinated as they take it and thumb through pages, another world in the literary, from those considered fluff, to the ones that the critics carry, imagination is sparked like a flint, the ascertainment of hearts and what thinks, people lost in libraries, large and miniature, a book worm's soil, loyal to the literature, listenin' to poems that are written in tomes, incomplete at the writer's death or finished befo', the craft of the song, from the rap to the rock, the words chosen and how the passages talk, the verse, with its collection of rhymes, and the words, with the connection of lines, exciting to the virgin mind, exploration, read and taken in, segue way into meditation, to each his own, seek control, free the soul, relation to the statements that we see and hold, writings are left when the body decays, so the future has a record of what went on in our brains, and we all view differently the blots of ink, to each unique, when our thoughts we think, writing can express the most fervent of cries, to even highlighting all the random quirks in our lives, got respect for languages, in all of their mediums, whether scripts, blogs, novels, or speakin' 'em, and to sum it all up, I guess I'll leave ya with this, without words or writing, this wouldn't even exist