Rock, Paper, Scissors
Some things will hurt.
in grey steadfastness.
Just like a fist. And the clenching of it.
The blessing of rock is strength.
Some things will heal over.
Paper covers the wounds in white gauze;
lets words do the rest. Sometimes silence
is a smothering.
The blessing of paper is write.
Some things will cut deep. Some things will bleed.
The sharpness of scissors, their poise to attack.
Our blunt defence.
The blessing of which
is to forgive.
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