With great audacity we claim we write words
We are the puppeteers constructing abysses of despair and bridges of hope
The composer to a grand, eternal song
The true holder of the swift pen spraying ink across the page
No instead, we are bound and shackled by these words
Slipping and sliding their ways from our dormant minds
Taking no credit as they spill upon the world, unanchored
Words with power undefined, lashing out and bringing in
Are we the wielders or the wielded?
Vessels with personalities strung together by an assortment of ideas only shared through these words we haughtily claim as our own
Words like hearts, beating through time and space, wells of life
Chained by their whims as we release them from our tongues to rain upon dry ears
With great audacity we claim to write words
Never asking
Are we the wielder or the wielded?