To Write Means.....

Ah, the blessed words! The rhythm they create Shields me from the world's hate Gives me wings to float and soar And see the peace that's nevermore FREEDOM is born in their sound If all knew this Peace would abound But instead the sound is twisted ABUSED mangled for dictator's use Insteading of building they tear down A hideous, keening, wailing sound Instead of making, they destroy The world as they view it is their toy. BUT NO! Words are good Oh, why are we misunderstood? Is our tongue a blessing or curse? To speak or not to speak? What is worse? The ones who use words for malice?For pain?For their own selfish gain? Or those who seek to help another? Not realizing words can smother? Perhaps Fate truly exists And we serve no purpose in all this.