Words can be Weapons to Wound

Your words blew towards me

Like a gale of icy wind.

Propelling at me

At an indescribable velocity.

The cold and bitter gust

Slapped my face. 

Now they swarm around my head

Like wounded bees in a beehive.

The letters morph into stones

The words into bricks

The sentences into walls.

Stones and bricks and walls

Creating a barrier between

Myself and my visions.

Your words shooting my thoughts down 

With just a bow and arrow.

Each one thrust upon me

Tumbled down my face.

But your words will not leave a permanent scar,

Only a mere bruise

That will heal and recover.

And when it does,

It will glow,

Iridescently.