What if my words could be seen on your skin?

Would I consider them more?

Carefully, tenderly picking just the right one.

For you.

Feeling the weight of each syllable heavy on my pregnant tongue.

Ready, to bring life.

A gift.

Each word a balm of hope on your tired, sun-scorched heart.

Or, not.

The choice is mine.

At times I forget.

I refuse to see the reflection of Jesus on your face.

I pick my words like stones off the sin-stained ground.

Weighing them one-by-one.

Choosing just the right one.

To break


To mock


To bind your tired, sun-scorched heart in chains

that might, in time, prove unbreakable.

Such power they hold.

Every word.

Life, or death

on my tongue.

And your heart

in my hands.

Your life

a fragile bird,


Within my power to free, or to crush.

Proverbs 18:21

© 2017. Liezel Graham. All rights reserved.

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

Connecting to %s