Dale Lloyd

Everyone has a message—
a story meant to be read,
expressed in the living,
not hidden in the head.

Every action forms a word,
a sentence taking shape;
even the pauses, even the cracks,
leave room for more than we can say.

Mystery, humour, anger, hope
are written as we move;
nothing wasted, nothing lost,
not even what we meant to prove.

It’s not so much the spoken words,
though they each play a part;
something quieter, more enduring,
speaks the language of the heart.

The tone we carry, the spirit beneath
each fragile word we bring,
is often heard before the sound,
the deeper, truer thing.

And yes—our words can all be right,
yet still go slightly wrong,
as what was meant to heal and bless
returns to us as song.

But grace does not step in with force
or raise a judging hand;
it waits beside our halting speech
and seems to understand.

It listens past the broken notes,
hears what we meant to say,
and gently gives a truer tone
as we are led—not driven—on our way.

What finally reaches listening ears
is not perfection’s art,
but love, made audible at last,
in the language of the heart.