Words

They are just words.
Tell yourself often enough
you might make believe it.
Words strung together
into a necklace
no throat will ever wear.
Written, seen, read, spoken
have you not woken
from a dream
with another's words?
Weapon-like words
knives, arrows, bullets
rend the flimsy armor
of false beliefs
Could your words not span
bridges over chasms
of misunderstandings?
Like painful stitching together
of torn hearts and broken minds?
Like salve on open wounds
can they not undo?