My Words are daggers on my tongue,
But liquid through my pen.
Conviction pies only in ink
That soaks a pleasing blend.

What mouth can electrify more
Than six words on a sheet,
Delicately carved in minds
To fuel a hearts each beat?

I'll paint designs on homely scars
To make my children weep,
And make self pity sound like songs,
Like wolves hid among sheep.

These tales are filled with elegance,
But only from intent.
Delivered are my past regrets;
My own way to repent.