And when in broken pieces lay

The strings of fellowship

And when at break of sodden day

The sound of cracking whips,

Do all the wise words steal away

And stumbling fools do slip

Into the realm of come what may

And wish they’d had a grip

On what is real, on what to say

And when, just when to seal a lip

For nothing’s soft and gentle sway

Finds answers mid the clamoring yip

And feet of shattering crumbling clay

Falter when they mean to skip

“Sticks and stones,” the children play

But words? Words a soul will rip.

About suzanawylie

Suzana Wylie is the not-very-pseudo pseudonym of Susan Wylie Wilson, because let's face it, there are lots of Susan Wilsons around, and as an author, I want readers to find ME and not the bazillions of others. I've been writing all my life - since I learned to hold a pencil anyway - and can't NOT write. Other people have to breathe to live; I have to write.
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