Not written

The words you spoke of,
Last night,
Thy resonate,
Trough my mind,
How I made it,
Has for me,
Faded,
Yet for you so it seems,
Not to matter,
At all,
If I am,
More or less,
Of the precious,
Poems I write,
Thy does not care,
For the abstract absence,
Of reason or spring,
Only for the proces,
Of writing is the importance,
Not the result,
Oh, dear,
How I had forgotten,
It all does not matter,
Yet means the most,
In this paradox world,
My words,
Aren't mine.

And that's just is, words mean so little,
Yet thy can change not only my day,
Even so my life,
Words mean so much,
Oh life is such.

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