Be careful of words,
even the miraculous ones.
For the miraculous we do our best,
sometimes they swarm like insects
and leave not a sting but a kiss.
They can be as good as fingers.
They can be as trusty as the rock
you stick your bottom on.
But they can be both daisies and bruises.
Yet I am in love with words.
They are doves falling out of the ceiling.
They are six holy oranges sitting in my lap.
They are the trees, the legs of summer,
and the sun, its passionate face.
Yet often they fail me.
I have so much I want to say,
so many stories, images, proverbs, etc.
But the words aren't good enough,
the wrong ones kiss me.
Sometimes I fly like an eagle
but with the wings of a wren.
But I try to take care
and be gentle to them.
Words and eggs must be handled with care.
Once broken they are impossible
things to repair.
Read this poem in other languages
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
Comments about this poem (Words by Anne Sexton )
The Road Not Taken
If You Forget Me
Still I Rise
Edgar Allan Poe
Stopping by Woods on a Snowy Evening
I Know Why The Caged Bird Sings
William Ernest Henley
Did you read them?
- Shyness of her (ii), binod bastola
- Attach importance, gajanan mishra
- Silent Death, Adewale Ajakanri
- Not enough, hasmukh amathalal
- Diamond Gems, RoseAnn V. Shawiak
- Lost and Found, Anthony Di'anno
- reaching for your hand so i don't get lost, Mandolyn ...
- Share to walk, hasmukh amathalal
- Okay okay I said, gajanan mishra
- Friends are there, hasmukh amathalal