Violent blades cutting deep into the core,

Allowing insecurities to bleed out on the floor,

Soul searching spies that infiltrate the heart,

To steal a life, and rip it a part

Breathing’s undone choking on this tongue,

These bitter words choose their victim,

Holding back their indication,

No motive, rhyme, or reason

Perfectly planned, they march into place

Among the insults shoved in one’s face,

We never treat them like our own,

These flesh torn wounds and heartfelt groans

What if these sticks and stones,

Preferred not to break those bones,

Instead, holding on to the beauty in life,

Burying this relentless strife

Violent blades refined to blankets of love,

On those cold nights warming the blood,

Bandages cover those wounds too deep to heal,

Wounds never fading, or so one feels

The heart of flesh is vulnerable to the touch,

So comfort softly, we often say too much,

Pour the silence into this place,

Be still and listen with love and grace

Choose them wisely, providing hope to the hopeless,

Use them truthfully, healing this divine mess,

Encourage with love, as one breathes them in,

These powerful things, their merely words.