The caves of childhood dank and gray,
hickory musk linger on their walls.
I hid there..... from words.

Words of a worn out relationship,
too tired to leave,
they wore each other down to a nib of a human.

What hell it must have been
to squeeze out a drop of peace from each day,
knowing there would be more words,
and another attritive tomorrow.

Meaningless rantings echo still,
stinging and bighting at my heart.
Words,  petrified me.

I do not want to follow them.
I want to seal the caves,
dynamite the portholes,
never to return to the words.
How so, these many years,
I find my solace in words?
But my words, are my words.
They do not berate, or demean,
for I watch them like children
crossing a busy road.
I place them on the page
with care and respect,
yet I know not from where they came.
These words that save me,
words that raise me,
words that knead me, into me.