What is a poem but words scribbled on a page,

Infinite letters blurred within a carbon cage,

Just a series of meaningless signs,

The clouded crystals of troubled minds.

Yet words have a power so deep,

The thoughts they bear can darken our sleep,

They can form doubt or hate,

Questioning our purpose and our fate,

But they can mould emotions of hope,

Giving us the spark which we need to cope.

A word is a weapon for the angry fool,

But to the wise it is a potent tool,

To spread a rumour of hope in despair,

And change those fools who refuse to care.