Sticks and stones may break my bones,
But words will never hurt me!
Words, how devious, how fickle.
Two-faced friends, terrifying nemeses.
How deceitfully they don their masks,
As if they were harmless and all in good fun!
Sticks and stones may break my bones,
But words will never hurt me!
They are the waves beating against the jagged cliff,
The lightning flashing, the thunder crackling;
They are the wind howling as the heavens wail,
The walls shaking as the earth rebels.
Sticks and stones may break my bones,
But words will never hurt me!
They can bring the strongest to their knees;
They can bring the weakest to their feet.
They can bring the spry to the loftiest height they'd ever wished;
They can bring the weary to the lowest depths they'd ever been.
Sticks and stones may break my bones,
But words will never hurt me!
Lies, they all speak lies.
We have been taught falsely, so hearken now:
Words will hurt me, even if given a coat of sugar,
Even if bundled in a ribbon of laughter.
Sticks and stones may break my bones,
But words may even kill me.
YOU ARE READING
The Garden
PoetryA collection of words that were planted and hopefully will not wilt.
