The tongue is the quiver
Not unlike
darts, arrows, spears
hurtling forward, in deadly concert
finding their mark
wounding the countenance, dimming the esteem.
The target…
Pierced, grimacing, saying nothing.
Forging ahead.
Knowing responses elict more of what was tendered
fending for themselves
embracing silence as solace, shield, venue to heal, a salve for the wound.
Shun P. Writes... dot com 