You feel them when you run your fingers over a page of a book
The black text ripples across the stiff paper
You feel them also when someone uses them to hurt you
Or to show you kindness and love
But these words are spoken and so affect our ears
They are heard and not felt by the sense of touch
Words taste bitter or sour or sweet on our tongues
But they cannot really have taste, for they cannot be seen
They do not appear in the air after they are spoken
To be read by any wandering eye
And yet when they are written down we see them
We use our eyes and our sight to understand their meaning
But in reality they are only ink and paper or indenations in the sand
Nothing but a jerk of the hand sets one letter apart from the next
And yet they have such different meanings when put together
They form an idea that the whole human race understands
Words cannot possibly have a scent, cannot be noticed by the nose
They simply float on the cool breaze or the breath of the person speaking
Often times they hold memories in themselves
Memories of smells and sights and sounds that stay with us always
Mostly memories of feelings that arose in repsonse to spoken words
Feelings that are not real to the fingertips nor to the eyes or ears, nor tongue nor nose
No, words are only always real in a place locked up
Somewhere hidden, and where only words themselves may rightfully penetrate:
Words belong in the heart
