By Shawn Marc Carreon
Words can hold many expectations,
How much more can it carry upon us?,
Pouring out words like tea on a cup,
Only to fill it up with doubt and regret.
I’d have carried mountains upon men,
Conquered myself burying the past,
All would’ve been done if words weren’t kept,
It crushes whatever hope I’d have left.
We lack its verbal purpose to do so,
Our mouths becoming its slave,
Tending our egos so softly,
Casting a wall upon our prideful sobriety.**
