I am the letter,
the giver,
the receiver.

I receive praise
higher than mountain tops
and give insight
to those lost in darkness.

A young man approached my home.
A quiet, quaint,
and solemn home
Along a gleaming black wall of rest and conscience.

In his face I see the brightness of sorrow
The wonder in loss
and the fantasy of memory

His heart interprets my words,
through a series of meaningful beats.
Rhythm takes over what he thought he knew.
The melody of understanding,
becomes clear

Wisdom etched deep into his mindful eyes
They stare back at me,
glued onto the words,
and won’t let go.

I am the letter that speaks–
To the dead and to you