Trying so hard not to make a sword out of my words,
I have come to realize that words dull and shrewd
are by far much worse.
Still worse are words when they are not spoken,
when we hide in our silence
and hope not to be noticed.
Silence will be our death, muting the impossible,
the wonderful, thoughts of our hearts,
There’s a need to love.
So I will speak love. I will speak passion.
I will give life to the urges of my soul
because death is all too quiet,
I will sing like a sparrow
as I flit through this banquet hall.