These letters

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These letters
Black ink on white paper
Fulfilling no practical sense
And yet I write them.

I just want to tell you
You mean the world
And more.
You give me the reason to do everything
And the power to do anything.

Black ink on paper
Will never tell
Nor work wonders.
Words I write
You’ll never read
And yet I write them.

You give sense to these words
Printed on dead trees
With the colour of cold ash.
I wish you’d know
The colour you give these words.
Not black, white and senseless,
But everything under the rainbow.

Without you
This is just a waste of ink,
A fright to the environment,
A degradation of myself.
Tell me I’m not crazy!





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