Slippage

 

What slips from my pen is thoughtful, measured

What slips from my mouth – too often damned vile

 

Words scattered like seeds borne on wind

Feathers from the pillow

Oil from the jar

 

The pain in your eyes

The hurt on your face

 

If only I could redact half of what I say

Even then the world would still be too

Full of loathsome remark

 

The counterweight to an evil tongue is not apology

But silence before speaking

 

Here I offer my best effort

Nothing

Please accept my measured words

 

 

Just a thought 75

 

Photograph courtesy of Wikimedia Commons