Poetry: Anchored by Words
How Language Carries, Shapes, and Releases Us
At the end of my days, everything begins to blur in my mind. I replay the events I've lived, fleeting encounters, conversations, and thoughts from the day.
As if the moments before sleep invite reminiscence—a return through words to memories I don’t want to forget, that I cannot allow to slip away.
Anchoring memory through language feels essential—almost a responsibility for anyone who sees themselves as a creator, an innovator, a contemplator.
I’m not searching for meaning, because ultimately, meaning is only secondary to the deeper purpose. Words serve to crack open new ideas, new ways of creating, and in doing so, help us draw closer to ourselves.
Anchoring through words, and movement through intention—the fluidity of language.
What is my aim? Why do I write? And more curiously: why am I asking myself this question?
I don’t know.
But for now, I know that my intention is what matters most.
I write out of duty—for the other, and in recognition of the quiet movements, the individuals who carry our everyday.
Words don’t limit thought—they structure it, but they don’t imprison it. Words are meant to be deconstructed, to be questioned, while holding the thread of their original intention.
Language is a kind of music, one that can be broken down into sequences, into notes.
There is no absolute meaning, only a multitude of meanings whose only common thread is the original intention.
—Nocturnal Thoughts by A.C