MARK it; MARK it by Mide Benedict

Mark my words- heed it-

Words that have no heart
But give pains, happiness
Hurt and feelings of torture-
My words are cold; feel them,
They are warm; hug them

They are lukewarm as well.

Words as ancient as today
As aged as the passing time
As wicked as the wind
As caring as the wind.
Words, the psychiatrist
That makes the sane mad
The destroyer that creates.

Mark my words with the pen of
The heart
Though it has no body of its own.