The words.


The words.
Tossed about like the wind.
Like the chaff that flips lightly into the summer breeze.
I squint my eyes to hear as they float off.
What is that you say?
I cannot hear you for the sun I see over there is too bright.
I can, though, see your eyes, light.
And they tell me that those words are gone.
That they float off as the momentary part of this wave that they are.
But don’t you know?
Didn’t you hear?
That as they float off, they remain?
Don’t you remember that your tongue is a sword?
That your joy isn’t what those syllables say.
That your heartache doesn’t matter if it’s just consonants and vowels.
That those words cut the wind and moved it, and gave hope.
And threw that away all at the same time?
You don’t understand what they whispered when you screamed.
You don’t understand the truth that wafts past us all.
Think before you speak, because in the wind they float.
In the wind they remind.
And in the wind, they move the air that holds me and we breathe.
Forever until the end of this place.

Words.
Small.
Yet great.
If only action followed in their
place.

Let us paint rainbows where there’s been rain. Don’t again spin a hurricane in the breeze. Yet be the sound of butterflies and the actions of life and the falling snow of sentences and paragraphs and smiles and laughs. So then you may stand in something and not chase the wind, and see with me the brightness of the pages filled with memories that don’t run and leave and fall all over the place.

Shhh, dear one. Listen. Do you hear that?

He said He would come back in three days. And the wind didn’t hold such Truth, for it remained on my rock. Thrice has passed, and actions followed and didn’t fade like the autumn grass.

Someday you shall understand that. And stop taking it all for granted.

Someday, we shall understand it all.

…because love wins.

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