Words

 

some days they are as the ash

spewed from a choking volcano

 

some days they are as the dust

from a dry country lane whipped into the air

by a speeding dilapidated pickup truck

 

there are days they are as the mist

from the crashing waters

of a spring thaw waterfall

 

other times they are as the gurgle

of a gently winding brook

easing its way through the countryside

 

they can be light as a feather 

or hurled like a stone

they can drift like the smoke of a distant fire

which takes its time to assail your senses

 

they can be sharp or pointed

like a finely honed and practiced dagger

 

they can sometimes crack like the tip of a whip

in the hands of a practiced master

 

there are those

which are as a used carpenter’s hammer,

rounded, and pounded

 

most of the time,

they are a collection of several

they are the words that flow

they are the words

which spring from our hearts and lips

like a well of water overflowing

 

they are passion-driven

they are purpose-created

they are the thread

woven with the needle of the tongue

to mend tears and rips in our lives

and the lives of those around us

 

they can spread the mortar and build a wall.

they can just as easily

break down the walls and barricades

between the estranged brotherhoods of man

 

they are the tools

we beat into usefulness

they are the weapons

we forge in fires of memory

        

they may be used or abused

they may harm or heal

they may damn or save

they may be poisonous or medicinal 

at the end of the day

when all our deeds are done

and all our words have been spoken

they are the many-colored leaves

fallen all around our lives

they are the remnants of a life lived

they are the scraps of memories

passed from one generation to the next

they are the words spoken and heard

they are simply the words

Words

© Ron Simpson Jr.