I string together letters and to what end I know not

For whom do I orchestrate the arrangement of my word

For what purpose I wonder, what is it that I have sought

I do not write for prosperity for far better things have I heard

 

The elusive letters just come at times and arrange themselves

Into words that fall in place and line themselves up accordingly

When they are finished, they cease to come, and I must delve

Into what it is my hand has laid down and was it done meaningfully

 

Other times I consciously organize the words according to a thought

A predetermined placement of words, an attempt to convey a picture

From something passing through my mind that had gotten caught

An underlying theme to expose, attempting to make sense from a blur

 

But that still does not answer for whom or why the words are written

Or am I overthinking it, must there be reason behind thoughts laid bare

Must there be some potential purpose in mind whenever I pick up a pen

Are words crafted and arranged with the intent to provide a thought to share

 

Or is it all just a casual compilation of letters that by chance seem to create

A swirl of color on the mind’s canvas when read, waiting for interpretation

Something put down on paper in passing and left behind for later debate

Where do these words belong, for what purpose is this literation.