Words are only as powerful as those who wield them.

Empty paper are only shackles if we think them so.

Because words are the backbone of imagination. The suture of mayhem.

Because empty paper is daunting to nothing but our inner author; the victim of a greater blow.

Empty paper is a menacing foe. Its stare cackles at your wandering discretion.

Words are the silver saber, the key that opens the door haunt.

Because empty paper is but a tool of our own manifested suppression.

And because words are the weapons of our inspirations. The machine of our literary jaunt. 

Photo by Patrick Tomasso on Unsplash