Words without purpose, emotion with dignity.

With each line on paper,
before ink or word look into
the creases of the folds,
the texture of the white layers,
and press against them with pen
with each touch feel your heart echoe
burning the words onto the world,
let thought contain the hand and hand
contain the word, and let word contain
the paper, until nothing is left but the
emotion of your poem.

Then ask me,
what did i write?

A jumble of words i'd reply,
because words have no meaning without
purpose or emotion.

Structure and word is only as thoughtful
as the taste of sunshine on your lips,
and only as helpeful as the ache of your hand as you write such feeble attempts of writing.

Such as this my friends,
such as this.