Words

Words can't speak,
They don't listen.
They don't feel,
They-are-dead.
They're empty,
Have no meaning,
Easily forgotten.
They don't exists,
Just-mere-illusions.
They're nothing,
And, never-ever be.


And yet . . . I scribe them, day-and-night,
I care for them, like my own,
Caress them, close to my heart.
I laugh and cry with them,
And be part of their lives.
I watch them grow up,
From little as they were,
Changing right in front
Of my weary-eyes,
Turning into something truly remarkable, called life.