Many people like to read poetry because they are well educated so that is exactly what i will do for you guys:

An envelope arrives unannounced from overseas
containing stark white sheets,
perfect in their presentation of absence.
Only a bold logo on top
revealed its origin, but absolutely nothing else.
I examined the sheets,
peered through their grains —
heavy cotton-laid striations —
concealing text, in white ink, postmarked India.
Even the watermark's translucence
made the script’s invisibility transparent.
Buried among the involute contours, lay sheets
of sophisticated pulp, paper containing
scattered metaphors — uncoded, unadorned,
untouched — virgin lines that spill, populate
and circulate to keep alive its breathings.
Corpuscles of a very different kind —
hieroglyphics, unsolved, but crystal-clear.

I know you enjoyed that very much and i know you would be intrigued to hear another so here you go:

A noiseless patient spider,
I marked where on a promontory it stood isolated,
Marked how to explore the vacant vast surrounding,
It launched forth filament, filament, filament, out of itself,
Ever unreeling them, ever tirelessly speeding them.
And you O my soul where you stand,
Surrounded, detached, in measureless oceans of space,
Ceaselessly musing, venturing, throwing, seeking the spheres to connect them,
Till the bridge you will need be formed, till the ductile anchor hold,
Till the gossamer thread you fling catch somewhere, O my soul.



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