Mysterious Language

I started this poem by typing a word that came into my head and then musing on it for a bit. For some reason the word "Language" came into my mind, and what you read in this poem is the result.

Language is an odd thing.

It can be molded and shaped to suit one's desires,

yet misinterpreted and fall upon deaf ears.

What meaning do these guttural moans hold?

The clicking of a tongue, or the rolling of an 'R'

How do we derive all of our wants, fears, dreams, and desires

with such primitive noise?

How beautiful though, the conversation of friends,

of intellectuals,

and of lovers.

How sweet the voices of these people sound to us

What power over language do they hold?

How can they turn these meaningless sounds

into immaculate language?

How then do I, the poet, craft such forms from these,

the written symbols representing language?

The answer lies in my heart.

Language on a page, transferred through my mind as if it is spoken by those I love.

This, my friends is the secret to written language

Hidden within the mystery of the spoken word

and the beauty that loved ones breath into it.