If Life Was Like a Poem

Letters

The curving of lines
And the dots to I's
'Dear' for greetings
And 'Sincere' good-byes
Sealed with the tongue
And stamped by the hand
Sent to a box
To travel the land
What's written inside
Is not the same
For every single one
Holds a different name
First it is written
In such careful script
To arrive aforeign
And then to be ripped
Opened by fingers
So dainty and frail
An old lady's hands
As her skin turns pale
Or perhaps it is read
By a young man's eyes
Held by a broad grasp
As he reads with despise
A story of himself
And of his demise