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.
