Words are tender truncheons that often are disguised,
As too familiar gallows, that we're dragged to in the night;
Penance on pedestals, till morning's dreary light..
Everything we try to say's transparent or too trite.

Words, the only tool that's good enough for love,
Hammers and pliers and mallet striking wood;
Remember there's no stopping till the heart is hanging out-
We want to be sure what we thought we saw there's still about.

Patti Masterman

http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/words-are-tender-truncheons/