Souls are delicate, and words are cruel
Souls are delicate, like threads of mist,
They bend with sorrow, they break with a twist.
Words strike like stones, careless and cold,
Cracking the quiet where secrets unfold.
A whisper can wound, a silence can burn,
Once spoken, the harsh ones never return.
They echo inside like a haunted refrain,
Leaving behind invisible pain.
So handle with care the hearts that you see,
Their strength is silent, their wounds unseen.
For souls are spun from glass-like grace,
And words can shatter what no hands trace.