Words, syllables running together. Each a beat long- singing a different song.
Some bite, sting, pierce the soul- rambling and blending into a pool of regret. Where do they go? Down a drain to ever be forgotten?
Words that soothe, lubricate the ego- swirling and twirling proud. Are they bottled in beautiful jars to be opened and inhaled to be recaptured?
Last words…getting the last jab. Last words at the end of a life. Words that don’t have the pleasure of a response, where do they go? Do they hang somewhere out there ever waiting for a reply?
Words forgotten to be spoken, hanging on the lips stuttering, sputtering waiting their turn. Should’ve, would’ve, could’ve are their cries of remorse. Where do they go? Are they lingering around, knocking on the memory’s door?
Lord, Do you bottle our words like you bottle our tears? Will you, on Judgment Day, open each of our bottles and pour our words out onto a table for us to hear? Lord, help us to weigh our words more carefully.