I am sitting here,
In front of a computer,
Staring at a blank, white screen.
And as I start to type,
The blank screen goes away,
It is replaced by words.
I could have typed anything,
A series of random letters,
But instead I chose to write words.
What is so special about words?
They are so simple,
Just a series of random symbols,
Arranged so they make sense to us,
But to a stranger,
The words are just a jumble,
Why are they so special to us?
Why do they make sense to us,
Yet they are not the same in China?
Letters and numbers,
Random symbols to someone else,
Make complete sense to us.
So what is it about these letters,
That means something to us,
But not everyone.
Is the special thing inside us,
Or does it lie within the letters themselves?
Oh the questions you can think of,
When sitting in front of a blank screen.

A/N: When you're sitting for an hour in front of a blank computer screen at school, you tend to think of weird random things. I don't think the poem is anything spectacular, but I always like to post my poetry anyway. If it's all posted online, I can't lose it.