Words are like music,
a melody to your ears.
They provide you comfort
and relieve your fears.

Words are like knives,
straight through your heart.
They are like scissors,
cutting you apart.

Words are like puzzle pieces,
complicated and tough.
They are small and jumbled
with edges, rough.

Words are like the oceans
with their timeless age.
Yet they are of turbulent waves
and of fickle rage.

Words are like needle and thread,
sewing up the seams
of the torn bonds,
making the rips unseen.

Words are like rays of sun.
Shedding light when dark.
Spreading warmth when cold,
then disappearing without a mark.

Words are heard.
Words are spoken.
Some, they mend.
Some leave us broken.

I am energy,
not heaven sent.
I carry the world.
I stand unbent.

I am power,
of silence and sound.
I am no puppet.
I stand unbound.

I am universal,
where truth is spoken.
Night turns to morn.
I stand unbroken

It lingers between small talks,
things best left unsaid.
All that remains
is the silence, so dead.

Nervous, little peeks
when the eyes refuse to meet.
That lump in your throat
at every heartfelt greet.

Staring into empty space
like you lost your muse.
Why was the courage hidden
if it was of no use?

The mind begins to burn
and the smoke grows thick.
It creeps into the heart
and makes you sick.

The silence then grows
with each passing moment.
Memories cloud your eyes
and make you repent.

The tongue begins to sting.
So much to be said.
Yet, all that ever remains
is the silence, so dead.

Things remain unsaid
when words begin to fail.
That excuse you make
is just another tall-tale.

That tension in the air
when you pass each other by.
That lump in your throat
stays, and you wonder why.

Dodging the questions
for there are no answers.
Wishing for things to go back
to the way they were.

They still linger between small talks,
things which were left unsaid.
All that will ever remain
is the silence lying dead.

I am yet a child.
To me, the prettiest creature
will always be my mother.
Her dimples, a beautiful feature.

I am yet a child.
To me, my daddy is strong.
He is the smartest
and is never wrong.

I am yet a child.
To me, it is my little brother
who is my heart, my life
and still, a bother.

Though I'm growing up,
I'm still a child.
Unleashing my dreams
and letting them run wild.

But the dreams hit a wall
and I soon realize,
the world hurled at me
a shocking surprise.

The days become a terror.
The nights, even worse.
Such times made me think
everything's a curse.

I observe and wish
to stay the same.
To not grow up and
see everything as a game.

But lives are dynamic.
Everything shall age.
My eyes begin to open
and I calm my rage.

It is unfair,
the world we live in.
You neither lose
nor do you ever win.

Now, I feel grown up.
That I'm no more a child.
Gone are the days
when my dreams ran wild.

Yet, given a choice,
I shall choose no other.
It shall always be me,
my mummy, daddy, and my little brother.

For I may be grown up
but I'm yet a child.
Wise beyond my years
with my dreams, so wild.