In the quiet of this revelatory hour,
A truth unfolds, both stark and raw:
Words, mere whispers on the wind,
Carry the weight of mountains within.
Syllables strung like poisoned pearls,
Transform the air they pierce,
From life-giving breath to toxic mist,
Seeping into the soul's deepest crevice.
Never before had I truly heard
The resonance of verbal blows,
How they ricochet off rib cages,
Leaving bruises time barely knows.
No blood is drawn, no bones are broken,
Yet the spirit fractures all the same,
Under the relentless barrage of hatred,
Cloaked in the guise of a name.
But in this hour of harsh clarity,
A spark of understanding ignites,
Illuminating the power we wield,
With every word that takes flight.
For if words can tear and shatter,
Surely they can also mend and lift,
Let this revelation be a turning point,
Where kindness becomes our gift.
In the dawn of this new awareness,
We stand at the crossroads of choice,
To use our words as balm or blade,
Knowing now the power of our voice.
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