What I write matters not to the world 

How I write matters even less

The words themselves seek no approval

Their meaning demands no understanding

Letters quietly laid down unceremoniously

Whisper their commitment to the paper only

The sentiment lingers on them like cologne

Reasoning resides within the coagulated ink

Entombed, the meaning lay deathly still

Overshadowed by the pretense of the finder

Over time words and meaning both shall fade

Returning to obscurity without notice

They are not mine to control nor yours

For it matters not to the world what was said

And matters less to the world how it was felt

For they were only words upon a page

That lay alone in their own comprehension