I don’t think I’ll ever understand your technicalities
or even the conventional ways you’re perceived.
Billions of possibilities are held in your hands.
You carry love, joy, deep sadness and remorse.
You’re an essay, a business pitch, a loved one’s kind birthday wishes.
You’re a series of symbols crafted into what we call a “word”,
with society unanimously understanding your singular meaning.
Yet you can create confusion, wonder, mystery, when pieced together.
How can a string of letters provoke such emotion, driven from abstract thought?
Your power exceeds farther than any living being or god above, for your art bestows immortality.
Perception is materialized the moment it reaches your possession, forever cemented into existence.
You carry a fleeting feeling far longer than any mind, beyond a writer’s youth and passing.
I will forever yearn to understand your complexities.