Words, and their Expression

Words, those precious things
That we all hold so dear
What, may I honestly ask
Would we do without them?

This way of self expression
That defines who we are
Something so taken
For granted, misunderstood

But what about the words
And how they feel
About constantly being used
By everyone at will

There are many artists
Who work well with words
And so many others
That poison the words they use

Look at people we see often
That greatest of speakers
And the unspeakable evils
By such a terrible persons

Is it the fault of the words?
Or is it our fault?
For all the good we bring
And all the bad we do

These words, often used
For the art of self expression
But what of these words?
And their own desires?

Regardless of our ambitions
And our supposed directions
We have enslaved these words
To work upon our wills
With no freedom to decide
Their own fate, but oh well