Different languages, different voices
They choose the letters with different choices
Some large, some small, some short some tall
Written on books,  signs or the wall
Drawn with ink, drawn with lead
From hands alive, and those who are dead
They turn and curve,  jut jagged or straight
They sooth your soul or wake you at night
By themselves they don’t live
By themselves they don’t care
Locked inside of each stroke
A threat?... or a prayer?
A bit of your soul
On the paper you’ve penned
Will they calm or incite
Or maybe  ……  just end?