Thorns and thistles, brambles and pricks:
there are some words that time will not fix.
Sharper than daggers, cutting like knives
speaking in anger to husbands and wives.
And what about all of our daughters and sons?
Is the weight of our anger measured in tons?
We can choose to speak kindly, to speak out of love
light as a feather, high as a dove
in a sun-drenched sky, happy and warm
far from the things that we do that cause harm.
So practice the pause, and think before speech;
and with joy we see just how far our love will reach!
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Author:
Fränz Müller (
Offline) - Published: August 29th, 2026 19:46
- Category: Unclassified
- Views: 19
- Users favorite of this poem: Tristan Robert Lange
Offline)
Comments2
A beautiful write where pain is compared to joy and love. Well written with good rhyme and meter. Well done
Thank you!
You are most welcome Franz
What a meaningful poem, my friend. You take something so ordinary and so dangerous, the words we throw out in anger, and bring it back to intention, restraint, and love. A very worthwhile reminder, Fränz. 🌹🖤🙏🕯️🐦⬛
Thank you!
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