Isn't it magnificent,
That the purest of joy.
And the most evil of hate.
Are just combinations,
of the same thing

That every good deed,
and every bad.
Has been just a random mix,
of this set?

That every novel,
every conversation,
every poem.
Is just a pattern,
Within a limitation.

That giving thanks
and throwing a curse.
Are only seperated by
a special sequence.
Of the same letters.

Think how a change,
in the blueprints of words
Make them sharp as a knife.
Or warm as an embrace.

Everything is
made with only
26 letters