Poet

The words we speak Makes trouble sneak And as the clock ticks Their momentum picks To the peak. So many words to shuffle But not in a scuffle Too many lines to read Enough for the soul's need Confident and wise Makes the lowly rise. Words that peck- A needle in the neck. Many are the critics But we utter no tricks The path is narrow Just as Jack is Sparrow. Tall is how we stand All we get is an upperhand. So as we hold our pens Let's strive to mend the bend To the end