Dancing Words

Words trickle down our lips one by one. Twirling through the air like shameful or blissful raindrops from our souls. They fester and elevate like wounds or cures. Squalid streams of blood and fire they can be; Translucent streams of water and serenity they must be. Sometimes the last of our words appear sluggish and filthy, and sometimes they appear transcendent and ethereal… until there is no more to tell.

Wassily Kandinsky; Picture with a Black Arch; 1912