To the mind what is a word?
A carrier pigeon sent to deliver love and hope unheard,
Or perhaps a harbinger of held feelings more ill,
Some even hide inside the carrier's feathers crows to disguise their will,

To others what is a word?
A verbal bouquet of lilacs whose petals brush the heart to get love stirred,
For some it is the last bit of pressure on the pistol held to the head of their spirits trigger,
And those entranced by flowers can't see the serpents in the vase writhing with vigor.

How will you use a word?
To be a saboteur of others dreams while to your tiding's muck their hope you see interred,
Or to the broken blindly searching for their pieces speak a guiding hand to hold,
For the word can not decide, all are born empty, we fill them to make life unfold.

A word is a gun as a gun is a word, instruments to decide whose children will never be heard.