We're losing the art of writing,
The sensuality of written words on a page,
Too many people are just typing,
Never feeling the words true pain.
The intensity of a letter,
As it flows from a pen,
The ink splotches that mold together,
To tell the story we hold within.
The signature that shows them,
Exactly who we are,
From pen to paper,
From heart to heart.
I realize this seems ironic being as it's been typed and posted to HP, but I write all my poems by hand in a notebook... so, that taken into account... it's sincere? I don't know, take it to mean what you will I suppose ;)