When words take control

When you let words take control
You become what they are, and they, your soul.

When words become your ethos,
Your thought is no longer yours;
Your mind is filtered down to the last chord,
Your understanding, your sword

Words should not own you...
Hone your talent son, but don’t let it hone you.
In this age dimmed lights are mistaken for expression;
Vocabularies like dictionaries make the impressions.
Musicians, poet’s, politicians, bureaucrats,
The ‘educated’ with their flash cars,
Flume down on the ‘hood rats’.

People need discretion.
It’s a chainmail game out here,
The Lord’s don’t glimpse a single commoner,
Yielded concession,
More word’s shared as parliaments in session.

“Let the word’s speak!” they say,
Let, the words speak.

Word’s live in temporality,
Change like seasons,
They often fade enigmatically
And when a meaning reaches its end,
There’s always a new word stuck out, waiting to be penned.

We should know what we’re saying,
And yes, say it well,
Understand who we’re speaking to,
Treat courtesy like gel;
But if ever a beggar,
If ever a cobbler,
If ever you mean to exchange visions with a hobbler

Remember this, my friend;
Words do not own you.
Hone your talent son, but never allow it to hone you.
Let no-one say your words brandished you dumb, though they heard you,
That they listened to speaking but weren’t spoken to
Speak easy,
And never impart knowledge that rot’s
When, if you said it a little simpler, it could have done a lot.