Sticks And Stones

Sticks and stones, might break my bones And words, shall never harm me, I was told that story, when I was a Boy Along with the birds and bees, I believe So I lived my life, through that advice That was given to me in my youth, That sticks and stones would break my bones And words could do no harm was true. So I stayed away from sticks and stones And tried never calling anyone names But the sticks still arrived, in my life And also the words of hate and pain. But then I had healed from broken bones And bruises and all the nasty cuts, It made me stronger, then I thought longer About the words of hate and such. Because the words of hate, I couldn't escape As I noticed them around everyday Destroying ones soul, until life they'd let go Or asking GOD for vengeance as they'd pray. Sticks and stones had broke my bones And words of hate had really harmed me, As I look around, I can still hear the sound Of hate, and belittlement, and bigotry. There are still broken bones and nasty cuts, As I see as I enter every day with a walk, But doctors heal then, as they are new again But the words of hatred never balks. In my life I have made many choices, And I hope with one I don't stand alone Never to ever use any word of hate As I don't mind getting hit with sticks or stones. Randy L. McClave