There are many things that words can do. There are many things that words can control. They can enchant the mind to picture whatever they want to, or even create a reality that is sought above all else. Words can inspire fantastic marvels such as these:

A mountain could completely collapse, destroyed from its core. There could be nothing left but rubble, dust hanging in the air. There could be only pieces left of a once imposing spectacle. Those pieces could then fall into a turbulent sea, dominated by an awe-inspiring storm.

All through the mind of an author.

That storm could rage, destroying all in its path. It could boast whatever winds it desired, it could rain down with all the strength it pleases. It could strike with the brightest lightning, crackle with the loudest thunder. Countless vessels could fall victim to its rampage.  

All through the whim of its composer.

That wind could then slow to a gentle breeze. It could fly past some autumn leaves, swirling them into an impromptu spiral. Those leaves, bearing shades of reds and yellows, holding within them oranges and browns with all the pride they can muster, showing their hues to the world. A whirlwind of color, right before the eyes of any spectator.

All with the flick of a pen.

Those eyes could then turn upward, observing a black canvas, extending above everything we know. Painted upon this canvas are the brightest lights, scattered across the sky. At its center lies a bright moon, whose sight is a nurturing gaze, calming all who see it. Around it lies a halo of twinkles, winking at awed eyes.

All with ink on a page.

When the sun finally rises, the light it carries brings out even the finest details of all it covers. The warmth contained within its dazzling rays is for all to bathe in. Oh, what a comforting warmth this is, that none are withheld from its beauty.

All in a paragraph.

The recipients of this beauty take every variety of form. There could be the smallest ant, crawling its way across the sidewalk. A mere inch to us could be a mile for it, making the tiniest distance translate to the most pressing difficulty. Yet onward it travels. Each blade of grass that leans toward the concrete hails the approaching creature.

All within a mere thought.

High above this endeavor there could rise a tall redwood, looking down upon all around it. Brushing the sky has never seemed so effortless, and surely all troubles are as weightless as the clouds. The intimidating figure casts a dull shade on all below, bearing this gift, an offering on what could be a sweltering day. Sun and its trees work together to warm those who need it, and to chill those who do not wish for the warmth.  

All in a reader’s fantasy.

All of this life would eventually come to an end, for nothing can escape its eventual fate. Fate takes many shapes. A wildfire could blaze, a spectacular inferno. It could burn out after a time, yet take countless lives with it. Disease claims its victims too, choking out what was once a strong life. A cruel design really, striking without provocation. Or even simply age, overtaking a man that had long eluded death’s reach. Tears in their rawest form appear in the eyes of all who cared.

All in a reality not so different from our own.

The tear-filled eyes see whatever is before them. They could see that life in all of its forms, from the smallest ant to the largest redwood. They could also see the end of that life, through a wildfire, disease, or age. The tears would then fall, hopeless helplessness in each drop. The eyes would learn to appreciate life, its end, and everything in between.

All because of words.

The mind in which all of this happened would then realize that it was simply reading a collection of letters. These letters, however, were so delicately crafted as to destroy a mountain, unleash an all-powerful storm or even a small breeze, appear as a beautiful night sky, or even as a passionate sunshine. Everything is just as it should be, and text becomes more than it seems to be.   

All because that is what is meant to happen.

And that’s just it. Words are everything that is around us, everything that we know. Letters create these words. These words dictate the mind, and the mind dictates reality. In this way, words have an infinite power that we may never understand, but forever be able to imagine.

All because they want us to.