Day 10 has been a blur . . . I’d much to do, and much I did. I cleaned, I wrote, I shopped, I wrote a little more, but not a poem, so I traveled back in time, to not too long ago, and picked a poem about power from the archives.

Words wield an awesome power – choose them with care.

“Sticks and stones may break my bones,
but words can never hurt me.”
Oh, my precious soul,
but they can
and they do.
Words cut.
Words sting.
They echo
in hearts and minds.
Those sticks and stones
may bruise you, yes,
but bruises fade.
Scars of the flesh can heal.
Broken bones renew.
Words though,
sharp enough to etch
a mark upon the heart
fester and grow,
inflicting pain
long after
they are spoken.
Words become weapons
when wielded
without care.
But hope, too,
resides within them.
Words can heal,
mend what others
have broken.
Used as a shield, deflecting
spoken daggers aimed
at the heart.
Words, the right words,
can fell foes
and lift the fallen.
Choose them, precious soul,
choose them with
thoughtful intention.
Command them
with honor,
respect the power
they hold
and you will
find strength
within them.
Choose them wisely,
precious soul,
and use them
for your good . . .

CrC