A collection,
A statement.
Voiced principles of another mind,
Carefully picked words for an even cautious sentence.
They pull punches or arrive as a cheerleader,
Screaming with intent of being known.
Or bring forth easement for another day,
Words and their power.
Hidden or clear is yet to be known,
For not all words are clear and concise.
Nor are they always cryptic and wordy,
My power is in my words.
Whether to hurt or heal,
They are the pinpoint boundaries in which I dictate the say.
I wield them,
Though as a child.
I still wield them with ferocity,
And you can be sure that by brutal or enlightened pursuit.
Either depend on me,
And only me.
