Words

How much of a difference is made with words,

Simple words that are not laid down in any significant pattern,

So that they don’t have any agenda, with nothing to hide or even turn,

Out there with a gentle force that can’t be denied merely because they matter,

Spoken words expressed in simple trust,

If they were expressed any better they would be the real thing,

The actual feelings they try convey emphatically with a special touch,

And the thoughts they communicate with a veiled confusion as one thinks,

Wouldn’t they just be the very essence of existence,

Closing the gap between what was desired and what actually happened,

Bringing together one to the other with minimal resistance,

Connecting the inner most worlds to the outer most hopes so rapid,

The words dangling like icicles from the most neglected and cavernous minds,

In time their most potent use forgotten like weapons for wars badly imagined,

In sad moments they are remembered for their strength, their guile, their size,

But all of that means nothing if they are not spoken with openness exacted…

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