I only want to speak words that resonate—that excite the heart, that resound in mind, brain, and body, that stir the imagination.

I have no use for words without resonance, that die the moment they are spoken, that pluck no kindred chord in some other place, mind, or heart.

I want the chamber, the hall, the mansion—the valley, the mountain, the plain—to echo with my words.

I want to hear birds chirping and see boughs of trees bending in reverence to their holy sound.

I want the forest to whisper my words like a secret circulating among its trees, one tree amused, another troubled, still another shocked by them but not one indifferent.

And I want the sun to flicker, then grow dim, as though its fires are about to go out. "Alackaday!, aday, aday ..."

And I want the moon and the stars to grow brighter, as though thrilled by my speech. "Marry me tonight, my love, down by the river! the river, the river ..."
I want the toddler to scream for its mummy as though something bad is about to happen.
I want the cars in the street—all of them—to stall and their drivers to get out and continue down the street on foot, walking like ghosts unlaid in silence.

I want the waves in the ocean to grow huge and menacing, threatening every ship on the water, its crew and cargo.

I want my words to say, "Stop for a moment and listen—life is more than the dull repetition of old routines. Tear up that list of urgent things you needed to do today and climb a mountain or walk in a meadow by a stream—celebrate life, don't kill it!"

I want lovers to halt in their embraces, stop kissing, then start again with renewed passion; I want him to eat her lips, her to drink his eyes, them to moan for mankind's lost meaning now rediscovered in their warm embraces.

And I want the couple in the restaurant with the bottle of wine to drink the whole bottle, then order another.

I want my words, illuminated by a symphony of bright stars, to inspire speech with deep-in-the-earth meaning and the resplendent sound of celestial cymbals crashing.

I want my words to be trumpets announcing a new world order where peace and love are both a first and last resort. Peace, peace, and more peace, friends.

I want the cop writing the ticket to stop, laugh, tear it up, and say, "Well, just don't do it again, okay?"

And I want my words to lead me on to other words and other sounds more beautiful and fine than these few splayed ones.

I want to eat the words of the masters and feel them grow inside of me—Hamlet with a sword in my hands, Romeo espousing love in my heart, Lear in my belly bellowing.

I want to be a new person who remembers and honors the old one but who, bearing cross, crescent with star, or buttery croissant,  moves onto greater things.

And I want to share everything with you, but mostly the meaning and sound of these words, so that you can pass them on and share them with others who will think of me without knowing why, passing around the spirit of words like a bottle of wine to the end of time. Cheers, my friends, cheese and amends!

I want to be the word that excites the heart to a frenzy of love and illuminates the thought with a thousand glowing candles. Alleluia, word and world!

And I want my words to live in you and me and all others, sprouting and giving birth to new words and other-worldly notions of what can be.

I want the magic and music of my words, your words, our words to resonate at frequencies not yet discovered in worlds unknown, unknown, unknown ...
By Louis Martin