Speak

When the dawn breaks soft upon the quiet street,
A single word can stir the hush beneath the feet.
To speak is to unfurl a ribbon of bright sound,
That weaves through crowded markets, through hallowed ground.

It carries laughter, tangled hopes, the weight of grief,
A murmured promise, a fierce, defiant belief.
In cafés where steam curls like thoughtful sighs,
And libraries where reverence softly lies,
The voice becomes a bridge, a fragile, steadfast thread,
Linking heart to heart, where unspoken things are said.

Yet speak also bears the shadows of the tongue—
The sharp retort that wounds, the rumor flung,
The careless jab that slices trust apart,
A reminder that our words can mend or scar the heart.

So let us choose each syllable with care,
As gardeners tend the blossoms rare.
Speak with kindness, speak with truth, speak clear,
And let our voices be the light we hold dear.