Etched Words

I’d write the words if I had them
 They’d curve and arch with each syllable like a craftsman etching marble
 Each one chipping away at truth a slow piece at a time.
 I’d form the words if I had them, and carve them into stone hearts
 And trace them as if they were flesh again.
 But words often betray me
 They speak of hope among warning signs
 If I had the words I’d tell you of the blood
 Or maybe I’d spare you the sadness
 Maybe if I had the words I wouldn’t speak them
 I’d just cradle you in silent understanding
 Like a worthy man, returning from war, to the arms of forgiveness
 To the arms of peace.
 If I had the words I’d tell you