For some reason when I was a child
I used to think a soul was shaped like a sword.

Smooth yet rough,
The blade elegant but could **** at any moment.
Sort of how our words can be said
Gently
Yet cut like knives into another’s heart.

One that is skilled would wield the sword gracefully
Just as one with a kind heart and well-crafted soul
Would not damage another’s dignity
With their words or actions.

When we sin our swords
Become blanketed with blood
From our victims.
Only cleansable
When our enemies bequeath us forgiveness.
Only then can we wash away the blood
And bandage the victim.