All truth is best expressed in thought;
for thoughts can't be erased or changed;
if we could read them, we'd know what ought;
but, turned into words, they're rearranged.
Thoughts are idly, floating free in the air;
there's no way they can be disguised;
pushed by a breeze; words blow everywhere;
recklessly changing, thoughts into lies.
Thoughts are the perfect expressions of fact;
hidden very deep in the vault of the mind;
turned into words; we cannot redact;
by listeners, they've been defined.
And words converted; turned into print;
are worse; more dangerous to be;
for fewer readers can lend dissent;
they no longer hear it; but see.
After passing the listener; where do they go;
do they float high above in the sky?
Perhaps, instead, they sink in deep snow;
could they please, just wither and die?
In theory, by energy, they go far and wide;
radio waves are examples of such;
it depends on what flawed men decide;
for we all treasure words too much.
Thoughts are so difficult to measure;
most, embraced by the Master's love;
making truthful words a treasure;
love spores; from God's garden above.