Some Words Are Like Mountains

Sticks and stones, may break my bones, but some words are like mountains that can swallow you in its depth, overtake you in its splendor - I've known caverns there that will wrap you in its arms happy to take the brunt of a storm made of angry remarks. Some may counter and say, "A stake can stab you in the heart," but your words came like a monsoon leaving gashes in my umbrella (what was left blew away in the winds of your indifference) You say you're a gift wrapped in pretty pink paper yet belittle those unfortunate enough to crawl in the shade of your inflated presence (laughter to fill a cathedral, too loud to hear the sound of a silent tear) Sticks and stones - so they say - but some only dream of decay because the comments you made deprived them of their essence. Why are you even Here? If not to raise people up; instead all you do is sneer and leave everyone feeling crippled with the weight of a flippant syllable. Cain may have killed his brother with a jagged rock, but some are still bleeding scarlet threads left hopelessly entangled, because all you do is talk ... and talk ... and talk (all consideration be damned, etiquette you pissed on) Is stick and stones, gonna be your swan song? Like a mantra with no end, please, say it once again, as you tell it the wind - the only witness that remembers those who leaped in late December: spread-eagled, believing they could fly, believing they'd have release, but instead all they found ... ... was the concrete.