Usually in control
The boss of my own words
Expression has never been
A weak-point
Quite the contrary;
Making words dance
Is an art I take pride in
Not really difficult to –
*Speed-bump*
My friend loses a loved one.
The right time to substantiate
All those messages of hope
That you relentlessly preach
Where?
Where are those precious words now?
Where is your supposed control
To comfort a loved one?
Powerless in the face of death
Standing still, gone mute,
An art chiseled over the course
Of five years, disintegrated
The word plate scrubbed clean.
That’s when I realized
That sometimes
The only thing anyone can do
Is give someone a hug.
– Original-Dante ©2016
Photograph by: scheinbar
O.D. 
beautifully said ❤
Thank you Neha 🙂 Happy weekend!
Happy Weekend! (it’s still friday morning here but counting down!)
Wow this was magnificent and so human. “An art chiseled over the course of five years, disintegrated. The word plate scrubbed clean.” -That’s so poetic. We have so many words, as writers but yet they all can be deemed useless when compared to something as impact full as a hug.
So true, wordplay and reason through rhythm wont comfort someone in moarning, actions do indeed speak louder than words at times…and I thank you Jo, i’m glad you liked it 😀