Visits Poem by grace mariner

Do the words we speak hover above us and descend to kiss or scratch our ear
in our moments of vulnerability?
Jumbled, does all that is spoken, throughout the vastness, arc
and follow the curvature of its horizon?
It must be so.
I have witnessed first hand the effect of those words,
spoken by myself and others as they light upon my sense.
The words long forgotten ring in clear tones, their octave dictated by their intent.
Warm and light as the sun upon the Monarchs wings.
Searing hot and abrasive with their coldness.
What utterances can do!
The power of the spoken word is not to be easily dismissed!
Not casually spoken outside of the mind with the casual wave of the nonchalant hand.
No, we must know the power we hold to mold or destroy by such seemingly
unmeaning commentary.
Occult by nature, they plant a seed that will sprout forth
without warning when watered by those words as they rain back down.
A sunflower may bloom or be choked out by some rank vine,
strangling the very spirit to its core.