Monday, 30 May 2011


I can see her mouth moving again,
Flapping like a letterbox in the wind.
Whatever's coming out of there
Will not be good.

The angry needles of pain
She stabs out at the world
Prick her conscience not one jot. 
I almost pity her, but not quite.

She's worse than just an idle gossip,
She's a deliberate gossip,
Never troubled by the inconvenience 
Of truth in the telling.

So young a heart,
So shrivelled with 
Imagined disappointments,
Soap opera bred 
And twice as bitter.

Wake up sister of mine,
Words shape minds, 
Minds shape the world,
Do yourself a favour 
And choose your words 
With a better heart.

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