Words are tender truncheons that often are disguised, <br />As too familiar gallows, that we're dragged to in the night; <br />Penance on pedestals, till morning's dreary light.. <br />Everything we try to say's transparent or too trite. <br /> <br />Words, the only tool that's good enough for love, <br />Hammers and pliers and mallet striking wood; <br />Remember there's no stopping till the heart is hanging out- <br />We want to be sure what we thought we saw there's still about.<br /><br />Patti Masterman<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/words-are-tender-truncheons/
