If We Tasted Our Words

Weird imagery, maybe so—
but imagine this before you go:
if every word from heart to tongue
left not just air, but flavor hung—
a taste, a burn, a bitter ash,
each syllable a holy clash.

If gossip left a sour sting,
and pride was like a rusted ring
that coated every breath we gave—
would we still speak so bold, so brave?

If anger dripped like oil and fire,
and spite set our own mouths afire,
would we then pause—just one small beat—
before we let our poison speak?

And what of thoughts, those silent things
that never grow a pair of wings,
but live like smoke behind our eyes,
in secret rooms where judgment lies?

If every hidden, harsh idea
was tasted, felt—immediate fear—
like salt poured deep into a wound,
would our harsh minds be so attuned?

Oh, what if Christ, the Living Word,
stood close each time our voice was stirred?
Would we still let our tempers fly,
forgetting that the King is nigh?

The tongue is fire, James once said,
a spark that wakes the walking dead—
or burns the bridge, destroys the soul,
and leaves no grace to make us whole.

So, guard it well, this sacred gate,
let love, not venom, choose its fate.
For out of hearts the words arise—
and God, He listens past disguise.

Let mercy season all we say,
and light our minds like dawn’s first ray.
And when the thought begins to rot—
may we taste it...
and cast it not.