by Sophia White
Words are words, faulty things
One word can mean, well, anything.
You may say it in one sense
But other minds may bear it hence
And destroy your pretty phrase
With hoping, wishful, evil ways.
As one who cares, let me be frank.
My face, in this, is often blank
But you do light little flames
And none but yourself is to blame.
Beware your candles, little girl.
Beware the twistings of the world.