REFLECTIONS © 2011

I can wound the words,

Touch their soul with the weight of feeling,

And in each verse, I tear their wings,

Leaving them powerless, falling.

Making them weep is my gift,

When I cast them into the abyss of pain,

They tremble, as if the sound

Echoes the lament of love's strain.

The words, fragile yet so strong,

Suffer the touch of my torment,

And when stripped of fortune, they belong,

They dissolve into tears of discontent.

And thus, in silence, they weep softly,

Wounded by the truth that lies in their journey.

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