Something.

More along the lines of what I usually write.

Unspoken

I always said that what mattered,
Was that, that is not said,
Because when your thoughts are scattered,
All sorts of thoughts come into your head,

And those that escape your lips,
That were intentionally, supposed to,
Can ocassionally eclipse,
The meaningful things that we all do,

It's the small twitch in the politican's face,
That promise he kept before he left,
The way that guy's so quick to the race,
Without a chance of beating his personal best,

It's the loving look inside her eyes,
That says more than words ever could,
It's the way we never realise,
How lucky we are, when we should,

It's the way we act like to share is to bleed,
Far too concerned about ensuring that others agree,
It's the way that I always feel the need,
To put these thoughts into poetry,

It's the way that I know I'll never give up,
Because if you do, then what are you living for?
And perhaps it's time for the world to wakeup,
To the fact that seeing the person inside should never be a chore.